


Random Works

by empires



Series: Collected Prompts [1]
Category: DCU, DCU (Animated), DCU (Comics), DCU (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Blowjobs, Catboys, Cockwarming, F/F, Femslash, First Dates, Fluff, M/M, Praise Kink, Rule 63, Tumblr Prompts, full nervous bakedowns, gratuitious fluff, jaydick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6251173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empires/pseuds/empires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of tumblr prompts that got out of control.</p><p>1. Catlad!Jason<br/>2. DCU v. MCU fusion (nc17)<br/>3. Talon!Jason<br/>4. JayDick at the Grayson gravesite<br/>5. JayDick long distance<br/>6. Catboy!Dick<br/>7. Rule 63!JayDick<br/>8. Flamebird!Jason<br/>9. JayDick spooning (nc17)<br/>10. Wonderboy!Jason</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The 9 lives of Jason Todd

**Author's Note:**

> _prompt: Catlad/Stray!Jason AU_

i.  
Selina wouldn’t hesitate when she saw him, the skinny kid sliding through the crowded flea market with dark eyes and quick hands. She recognized the look on his face—how hunger always trumped shame, how pride warred with fear when you scored the next lift. She slipped her own practiced hand into his pocket knowing the money will see him safe for the night. The note would lead him to her door eventually.

ii.  
Jason wouldn’t plan to become Stray. He just wanted to learn from Selina. She was at once all the things Jason wanted and never knew he needed. An older sister who pushed and cajoled him through any challenge. An eccentric aunt who vowed to show him all the wonders of the world. A…someone who asked about his day, sometimes tucked him into bed, and was always around to talk to when the nights were too long and too dark.

Nothing seemed impossible with Selina in his corner. Jason transferred into a new school and excelled. He had opportunities to try everything and he did, joining art club, fencing, and the swim team. 

After a time, Selina would approach Jason with the secret of her alter identity. It would happen after their Sunday morning yoga session. Jason had frowned at the bandages wrapped around her arm and torso throughout the exercise. 

“My curious boy,” she said. “I know you’ve had questions before, but also the understanding to let me keep my secrets. And I have many, Jason, so very many. But this one, I’d like to share with you.”

Selina sat cross legged and breathed deeply before revealing that she was Catwoman. As she told her story, Jason’s eyes grew round with excitement. 

“Cool,” Jason said in that quiet, underwhelmed voice that teens use to mask their reaction. Inside, he was shaking apart and at the same time, filled with awe. “So are you going to teach me that too?”

“You want to learn how to be a thief?” Selina asked.

“I’m already a thief,” Jason scoffed. “But I want to be a good one.”

Selina smiled at him. “We’ll see.”

iii.  
Robin wouldn’t expect to meet Catwoman’s new partner when he let himself into the museum surveillance room. As first impressions go, it was like an awakening, the moment before the match strikes the box and makes fire, although he didn’t recognize it as such. Mostly, Robin congratulated himself for quickly making the connection at all. It wasn’t the way the other man moved that tipped him off. It was the costume. It had a similar design to the finely tailored cat suite Catwoman wore, a flat, matte black that swallowed the light and made the eye wander down. The mask was a different. No ears but the overlapping triangle that bridged the forehead and nose strongly hinted of them.

Robin made a joke, “what are you? Some kind of stray?” and the grin he received was wide, boyish, and so bright.

Stray stood, body long, movements languid. “And more, little birdie. Let me show you,” he said, voice deeper than Robin expected.

Their fight—more of a getting to know you spar, really—ended with Stray pressed against the wall, laughing low in his chest. Robin clamps the handcuffs around one wrist and reaches for another when the lights sputter. Behind him the computer fans whine before everything shuts down abruptly. Stray’s stance shifts before Robin was twisted to the floor and the room fell into darkness. He landed with a quiet grunt, Stray’s body heavy above him. In the dark, his eyes glowed.

“I’m also some kind of distraction,” Stray whispered against his lips. 

iv.  
Jason wouldn’t know who else to turn to. This whole mess was his fault. It was his curiosity that set in motion the events leading to Selina’s disappearance. He told this to Batman, told him everything. How he followed the tip about a diamond shipment to the docks. How he connected the stones to an archeological dig, the Egyptologist, the first failed theft, and the second attempt that had seemed so easy. How it interrupted business between the suits and the masks, the mob and the maniacs that divided Gotham. How Selina said she’d fix it.

Batman stood under the glow of the batsignal that Jason had commandeered for this meeting and listened to every word Jason uttered, silent and unmoving until he was done. Then he told Jason to go home.

“No,” he shouted, scrambling to his feet. “You can’t keep me out of it. She’s my…. Catwoman is my.” His voice cracked. “Are you even going to help her?”

“No,” said Batman, voice low and strained. “Not the way you’d want me to.”

“What the? She. She told me you were good. She told me you’d always do the right thing and if I needed help. If we need help. She. You.”

Selina taught him many things about Gotham, about power, about loyalty, about independence. He had broken a silent rule getting involved this way. But she had also taught him that despite their handling of the law, Batman’s brand of justice was a fundamental part of Gotham, a true north that could be trusted. She was wrong. 

The only person you could ever count on was yourself. But Jason had already learned that lesson a long time ago.

“Fuck you, Bats,” he rasped backing away. “You don’t want to help us, fine. Just stay out of my fucking way.”

“Stray,” Batman started, but Jason was already running towards the ledge.

v.  
Selina wouldn’t rest until she got Jason back. She had lost so much in the two years that it took to bargain with shadows and curry favors from the side of good. But it was worth it to see Jason shake the dirt from his body and push himself upright. It was worth it to see the light in his eyes when he smiled at her, bright and boyish and wrong.  


He would hold her close, arms awkwardly stretched by new muscle and disuse. His hands would feel too cool on her shoulder, his breathing too shallow. Even his voice was too different, deeper, hard, when he said, “I didn’t think I. I thought you were in the blast with me and I remember thinking.”

“Jason,” she whispered, carding her fingers through his hair and felt the dust settle on her skin. 

“I remember thinking that I was gonna fucking miss you so badly. And I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve it because I was the one who got you killed.” His breath caught and she could feel the wet slide of his tears against her throat. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Selina would comfort him as well as she could. And it would be okay, eventually, because Jason had nine lives now. That was plenty of time to get it right.


	2. A jigsaw puzzle of narcissim, mental hurting, and tights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _prompt - AU: a Marvel and DC universe within the multiverse fuse together like a jigsaw puzzle with the two Earths circling the same sun._

i.  
The first public transmission between earths would be the first of many historic moments. Satellites would align. Anything that could send and receive a message would be attuned for the time when Earth extends greetings to this other Earth, who unfolded from the void of stars and joined its sister planet in her geosynchronous orbit around the sun. Composed by the greatest minds and hearts of each planet and containing the will for peace and humanity, the message would be one of hope and brotherhood. Welcome, they would say, Earth-2.

There would be a long moment of silence, then the low hum signaling that across a shortened distance of space and time, a microphone was switched on.

“Greetings fello—“

“Excuse me, Madam Chairman, I hate to break in like this but in between the amber waves graining and the schoolboy flutter in this ticker of mine—god that was a beautiful speech—but in between it all, I couldn’t help but notice that they’re calling us Earth-2. Did anyone else notice that? How did you arrive on that designation? How do you know that you’re Earth-1 or Earth Prime? Can we trademark those, Jarvis?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Tony!”

“Stark.”

“I think it’s a perfectly reasonable question.”

The microphone would be abruptly, blessedly switched back off.

ii.  
The governments of two worlds would push forward with the diplomacy efforts, both public and private. The third meeting between Earth™ and Earth Prime™ would be remembered as the pinnacle of peacekeeping efforts and a ratings coup for every network able to secure broadcasting rights.

The meeting would take place atop the flat plateau overlooking the Grand Canyon on a Tuesday morning when the sun shone brightly and the wind gusted enough to float each flag and cape in attendance.

After the first hour of speeches and the first 15 minutes of what would be several Q&A sessions with the press corps, Steve would lean toward the mic. “Excuse me, but I think it’s time I got around to doing what it is we came here to do.” He stood slowly, shield catching the light of the now noonday sun, star blazing. He extended his hand to the man seated next to him.

“My name is Steve Rogers. They call me Captain America.” His eyes would be squinted and he could already hear the mangled curses and reprimands that would come, but this was the right move, he could feel it. “They’ve told me a lot about what you’ve done for the earth. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

The flashbulbs shudder like a parade of rockets when Superman rose to his feet stern expression breaking into a smile.

“Kal-el of the house of El from the planet Krypton. I was born amongst the stars but I was raised here. The Earth is my home.”

They shake hands and both worlds breathe a little easier.

iii.  
One man would breathe a little harder.

Feet tucked beneath the 800 thread count sheets that were standard in this penthouse turned den of sin, Wade Wilson ran the video clip back for the nth time. It was that smile that caught him straight in the feelings hole, humble as apple pie and pure as spring water just waiting to be pissed on. Superman was hot, hotter than Wolverine, hotter than Hugh Jackman as Wolverine, more beautiful than Ryan Reynolds, the fabulously hung actor best known for “That girl fucked two guys in a pizza place” and career films that represented the worst in studio decision-making. And he was there pressing flesh with Captain America, also known as #3 on Deadpool’s not-so-secret “Dominate Me Daddy” list (and #6 on the very secret “Dominate Me Mommy” list but there’s six of you reading this so maybe not so secret now, huh?) He could watch them shake hands forever. Had really. Wade’d been spanking it for 12 hours, and that wrinkled stick of Kevin Bacon was chaffed, sore, but still ready to cut footloose. If it were the eighties (and don’t pretend you wouldn’t go back in a heartbeat), this tape would be worn and static stricken from how often he’d be rewinding.

He’s still slick, slick, slicking that fist up and down when he’s struck by a powerful thought. What if those hands weren’t just pumping up and down to spread peace, rainbows, and other made up shit? What if those warm fuck mittens were pumping up and down over Ryan Reynolds earnestly beautiful dick? And hold the phone, Bob Malone, did the other Earth even have a Ryan Reynolds? Were there two earnest dicks existing in the same time and space right now, tingled up and ready for a double pump from one of Earth’s mightiest heroes and that really good looking alien. Oh, oh yeah. Wade’s stomach twisted in the most pleasant of ways. Yeah, okay, yeah that deserved some fingers. New plan. Pause the vid on that double pump action, spin together two Ryan Reynolds—let’s say early 2000s sweet cheeked golden boy and today’s slightly weathered, gently used hero of hearts as the taut buns of this deliciously meaty sandwich, and some more lube.

And then he’d start planning.

iv.  
Wayne Industries, Stark Technologies, Kord Industries, Hammer Inc. Luthor Corp, and every other multi-million/billion dollar industrialist and corporation would be in a race to prevent interplanetary espionage and secure all intellectual properties and technological holdings. The media would cover the flurry of proposed mergers, NDAs, sole-source agreements, non-exclusionary, non-competition pacts, and other business jargon-y dealings the way they would an arms race. In the end, led by Wayne Industries and Stark Technologies, both worlds come together and create an annual technology expo that ushers in a golden age.

(“A golden age of what exactly?”

“Science. Industry. Imagination. Transportation. EDM, if we’re lucky.” If Tony cocked his heels just right, he could fit the wedge-like shape of Bruce Wayne between the split of his finely made Italian shoes that rested on the oak table. “The possibilities are endless.”

“I would expect a dedicated man of science to be more concreate when it comes to methods and details.”

“What does it matter as long as it’s signaling a brighter tomorrow for both Earths? But that’s not what you want to say is it. You want to tell me that you don’t like me.”

“I don’t like you,” repeated Bruce, and it sounded heavy and a little relieved.

“Buuuut….”

“But I do respect you and your CEO’s ability to execute on your ideas.”

“Pepper is the glue that holds this place together. But you know a winner when you see one.” Tony breaks out the finger guns and cocks one at his dapper counterpart. “And that’s why I like you, Mr. Wayne.”)

v.  
Hawkeye (both) would be adopted into Team Arrow. There would be unrelenting drama from all sides, but also chili cook-offs, impressive skill shots, incomprehensible trick arrow development, and a road trip across the major cities of two Earths to organize communities.

“Hey. You’d be surprised what a man can do with only an arrow and a dream,” Oliver would say.

“He’s singing my song, Hawkeye,” Clint would say.

Kate would take it as her cue to put on the Bon Jovi playlist and the Quiver Van would rock out to the next destination.

vi.  
If you watched the broadcast closely, Stan Lee would make a cameo as Journalist #2 and say something referential about the DCU and Marvel rivalry which would prompt Captain America to make his stand.


	3. The talon rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Are you still doing the 5 headcanon AU thing? If not, you can ignore this. But how about an AU where catatonic Jason was picked off the streets by the Court of Owls and made into a Talon?

i.

The court finds him in a warehouse basement known for underground fighting. They came seeking a rumors of a new fighter who has dismantled every challenger put before him.

They find a feral boy, dark-haired and sleepy-eyed, and unaffected by the arid scent of blood, sweat, and pass that soaks his skin. 

The fight would begin with jeers from the crowd. The audience sees that something is wrong with the boy. He reels blindly after each punch, falls to the ground limp and unmoving after a brutal kick. But the boy pushes back to his feet and stands there, body still, refusing to attack, perhaps unable. The other fighter circles the ring pointing to the crowd who roars. He pulls a knife from his sleeve and licks the blade and the crowd urges him on, stoking their own hunger. They wave their money at the numbers men who calculate the odds knowing who will win this round.

They’re wrong. The boy changes with the first slashing attack becoming focused movements and raw power. The knife clatters to the ground, and the fighter is unarmed, body curled into the shattered glass. And the boy falls back into its listless slump, eyes blank and unseeing.

ii.

The court trains in solitude and silence. Their tools are the repetitive lash of fear and pain. Yet, this initiate exposes a flaw in their process for they cannot discover the right combination for one without the presence of mind to be cowed and ruled. There is a need for expansion of their order, and so the court, hidebound and hidden, begins to evolve.

They call the doctor, a slim man with a pleasing smile, to oversee this radical departure from their order. “It will be an honor,” he says. “And a pleasure.”

A new training facility is constructed in secret rooms high above Gotham City. The rooms are built to exacting specifications. The first contains a laboratory, harsh light and steel, dedicated to synthesizing the court’s ancient alchemy and improving upon it. The second contains a chair, a screen, and a partition hidden behind smoked glass. They bring the initiate here for monitoring. It sits strapped in the chair, wires pulled across its head and chest, as they search for methods to reach it, to tame it, and then to train it.

In their attempts, the Court finds what brings the initiate to life. The images of birds in flight and the deep blue of the sky light the pleasure centers of the brain. Darkness and the spread of bat wings leave the initiate shaking with tears slipping down its dullard’s face. They use these things push it, to mold it. To change it.

iii.

The Talon’s mind is a placid wave of blue, smooth and unyielding. Sometimes its consciousness floats close to the surface and can peer through the wide, sightless eyes. Sometimes it can pull the muscles of its body and its fingers twitch against its thighs, its mouth aches with the effort to move and it stutters and spits against the cloth wrapped around its body. Sometimes it remembers that it had a name. Sometimes it remembers that it had a reason, a purpose. It just has to hold on. He just has to hold on because someone is coming. Someone is coming for Ja—

iv.

“The initiate still hesitates. There.” The footage slows enough to see the slight waver in the Talon’s movement before his sword slashes down. The blow is clean, the cut deep, but it is not meant to kill.

“It cannot talk. It cannot feel. It cannot think. But still it refuses to take a life.” The doctor sighs, a quiet sound of burden. “We must grind down to the marrow of its bones and make it anew.”

The doctor goes before the court and explains the second phase of his training: a new toxin. The doctor describes the effects and the benefits, saying that this new serum will weaken the mind for suggestion. The court agrees.

The injections start. It should be painful. It should feel like fire beneath the skin, burning at the concentration of nerves connected across the body but this one is strong. Over time, the doctor implants three commands into the initiate.

They are sublime in their simplicity.

v.

The doctor reveals his completed work before the court in a cleverly orchestrated event. They sit in the tiered auditorium, hidden by their masks and cloaks, in silent anticipation.

The demonstration begins with a display of control. Six ascetics surround the initiate who knees in a puddle of white light. The ascetics move closer, weapons slicing close to the initiate but it does not move until commanded.

_Rise._

The initiate stands unsheathing the short blades crossed at the small of its back. Masked and tall, the initiate does not resemble the empty-eyed boy brought to the court. The shift in their seats with renewed interest.

_Hunt._

The initiate blurs into motion. One by one, the ascetics fall. Their blood spills oily and black against the stone floor until only the initiate remains.

_Sleep._

The initiate drops to its knees, docile again. The court hums and rustles unseen, approving. The newly named Talon will rise again and serve the court’s will.

vi.

The court unleashes it during Gotham’s blackest night when their will spills onto a city that no longer fear their name. They are an unrelenting wave of steel to hammer against the thin defense of the Batman. And in the shadows the Talon hunts.

 


	4. No brass rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: JayDick visiting Dick's parent's graves (or Jason's)

Dick brings flowers and a handful of stories whenever he visits his parents gravesite to let them he still remembers; how he could never forget.

It’s quiet in the cemetery. The sun beams gently in a sky filled with lazy clouds and the trees rustle in a way that Dick has come to recognize as peaceful. It makes the walk easier, warm spring creeping over the gently rolling lawn that and the company walking beside him.

His parents are buried in a shaded plot near the wide vista of the Wayne family memorial. Mary Elizabeth and John D. Grayson, their names are engraved in the stone beneath the curving lines of two birds in flight. Bruce had ordered the tombstone for Dick’s parents long before he brought up the idea of becoming his ward, and they had a private ceremony all those years ago. Dick silently greets his them, tracing over the graceful lines, apologizing for the time between visits, unashamed when the stone begins to blur beneath his gaze. He’s wrapped in a warm embrace, strong arms to remind him that he’s not alone.

He catches Jason’s calm gaze and smiles, letting him know it’s okay. He’s okay. “Let’s clean up a bit, yeah?”

“On it,” Jason says, pulling a bag from his jacket pocket. Always prepared that one. It’s a quality that went from surprising to endearing, the way Jason always seemed to know what was needed to keep things going smoothly. Together they clear away the remnants of Dick’s previous visit, placing the dried flowers into bag and sweep away a few leaves and grass clippings from the gravesite. They spike a fresh ring of lilacs, roses, and lilies of the valley—his mother’s favorites—into the soft earth before taking each other’s hands.

Dick clears his throat. “Hey mom. Pops. You remember Jason, don’t you? He’s come with me a couple of times. We came here because there’s something we need to tell you. Good news. The best, so good I wanted to tell you first.” Dick pauses stricken by a sudden tightening in his throat. He tries to swallow it down and press forward but he can’t.

“I’ve asked your son to marry me,” Jason says. 

“Yeah.” Dick chimes in rubbing at the sting in his eyes. “Got me a ring. I checked,” he says before his voice catches in a quiet sob.

“Gold. Not brass.” Jason finishes for him because he’s heard the story before of how his mother’s mother would tell her the ring would show if his love was true. “I’m the real deal. Promised to be the man who grows with him and loves him with everything I have.”

The pain spearing through Dick’s chest is overtaken by a sudden rush of love so fierce his tears slide free. “God. You are. He is.” He takes a deep, trembling breath. “I know you sometimes worried about how it would be for me. But I’m truly happy. I wanted you to know that. I am so happy. And I am so fiercely loved.”

Dick swallows thickly as all the words he wanted to say disappear for a third time. He has memories of his parents, hazed golden by time and distance, but he feels as if he’d searched for something similar his entire life, the kind of faith, trust, and stubbornness that made their life an adventure. The competition, challenge, and the heart-stopping love found in the hand that would never let you fall, in the arms that would always feel right around you. He’s loved foolishly, wholly, and true throughout his life, and knows that this is different. This is home again, after all this time, here beside him.

“I love you,” Dick says, turning to wrap his arms around Jason. “I love you.”

“I love you, Dickface,” Jason whispers. “I do. I really do.” He pauses, glancing sheepishly at the grave. 

Dick presses their foreheads together and laughs, the sound quiet between them. “It’s okay. I think they understand.”

 


	5. Long distance relationships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: JayDick, Robin tries to/visits Discowing at Titans Tower, if that is enough of an AU?

Every hero knows when time to stop fighting. When it's necessary to fall back and regroup. Being held upside down by the ankle while several red dots slicing through the dark to circle his body means that for Jason Todd, the time is now.

The lights snap on and Jason barely muffles his groan of shame at being dangled a foot from the ground by Starfire.

“Stand down!” Dick’s voice cuts through the room.

Jason twists so he can watch Dick stalk across the top floor of Titan Tower. Even from this angle, Dick looks pissed, all clenched jaw and tight motion. It’s a good look on him.  

“Kori, put him down. Robin,” he starts after Jason’s righted himself and retreats into his cape, “Robin. What are you doing here?”

Cyborg secures several wicked looking lasers on and inside his person like a total badass. “I didn’t know that Batman had a new sidekick.”

“Hey!” Jason shouts, indignant. He’s not a sidekick and he’s seriously reconsidering the levels of badassedness coming from the technopath.

“It’s kind of a family thing,” says Dick over him. “He’s my brother.”

He’s not that either. “I’m his  _boyfriend_.”

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

Dick pinches the bridge of his nose. “You and I need to talk. Now.”

 

* * *

 

“Did Bruce tell you I was coming?” Jason asks once they entered Dick’s suite and the security feeds had actually been secured.

“Yes. He said you stormed out after you guys reviewed strategies after the robbery went kind of.” Dick spiraled his finger downward. “And that you hijacked a glider.”

“That’s not how it happened at all. I said I needed some air after his _lecture_. And maybe some advice.”

“You can’t keep coming here when you’re angry at him, Jay. Nothing will ever get resolved until you start communicating like partners should.”

“You say that like you’re not all the way here on the opposite coast. How’s that for communicating, partner?”

Dick ducks his head managing to look wounded and frustrated at the same time, which is fine. Jason’s been working with that mix in his gut for almost six months now. It probably isn’t the best thing to say in the moment though, not with how Dick squares his shoulders and launches into another speech about responsibility, accountability, and other pillars Dick has climbed to be the poster boy of perfection.

That’s not fair, he thinks with a sigh. Dick’s not perfect, but sitting here like this makes it really hard to forget that. Without the domino, the earnest fire in his eyes shines brightly. Dick believes in the things he's saying, embodies them in his every action, and worst of all, believes that Jason has a similar greatness inside of him. It’s a lot to live up to, sometimes too much. And then there's the other thing.

“It’s not just about him testing you. It’s about you identifying ways around and through your weaknesses.”

Jason nods like he’s paying attention to the speech Dick’s clearly agonizing over. He nods like he’s not watching the high collar of that uniform cast shadows from the hollow of Dick’s throat to the curve of his chest or the way Dick bites his soft lips while he picks his next words always so cautions because he wants to say the right thing to Jason. Everything Dick says may be true, but it’s nothing Jason wants to hear right now. He nods again, decision made.

“You know that’s not why I’m here, right?” Jason interrupts. “Batman can be a prick but we’re gelling, man. I came to see you.” He rolls to his knees closing the distance between them slowly, carefully because running is this Robin’s specialty. He leans in until their noses touch and their foreheads rest together. “I wanted to see you.”

Dick hesitates before reaching up to cup his shoulder. His hand is warm enough for Jason to feel it all the way down to the bone. “I miss you too.”

 


	6. Meow is the winter of our discontent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: If your still doing prompts how about a JayDick where person A has gotten cursed and gets fangs and maybe some other appendages too. And then there fluff and smut and person getting fangs and other too before curse is broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC NOW HAS FAN ART. IT IS MY VERY FIRST. I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO THANK PENTAPUS FOR THE KINDNESS AND THE BEAUTIFULLY RENDERED MOMENT. MY HEART IS SINGING.
> 
> [You can view the picture here!](https://66.media.tumblr.com/4b1226162c20518dfaad7f37eb11a4f1/tumblr_oahi9avUWT1rwv4flo1_1280.png) It is gorgeous. It is exactly how I pictured them.
> 
> [You can find penta's tumblr here.](https://pentapoda.tumblr.com/) Please go and swoon over amazing art, fic recs, and some written works too. A triple threat, indeed!

Tim slides through the kitchen door on one foot, eyes focused, hair askew. “I got the message and came here as fast as I could. How is he?”

“Sleeping,” says Alfred, who is rinsing several glasses and placing them into the drying rack. “Though after the thunderous echoes of your arrival, perhaps I should say waking.” His gentle chiding sends a flush down the back of Tim’s neck.

“Sorry, Alfred.”

“It’s to be expected in times of crisis.” Alfred turns from the sink. After drying his hands on the crisp dish towel, he retrieves the gold-handled tea service from its place in the cabinet.

“Is there?” Tim asks. The adrenaline that carried him from Gotham to the manor at odds with Alfred adhering to his daily routine. “A crisis.” He clarifies when Alfred glances at him in askance. 

“No more than the usual mayhem and trickery associated with occult artifacts. Master Dick appears to be hale and hearty, acclimating to the transformation. Master Bruce is monitoring his vitals while we await the arrival of Miss Zatara and Mr. Constantine. And of course the Madararui doll has been secured.”

“Oh. Okay.” Tim stretches out the word as he pulls down the matching tray for the tea service. “Damian made it sound as if Dick was. Well, as if Dick was in serious danger.”

“Master Dick is in the west salon with Master Jason, which might herald the end of days for some.” Alfred sighs ruefully. “I daresay Damian inherits this flare for dramatics from both sides.”

“I agree,” Tim says, meeting Alfred’s twinkling eyes. 

“I was about to take their tea to the salon, if you’d care to accompany them.” He pours a rather large portion of cream into a shallow dispenser with a fat opening. Tim’s response is interrupted by the disembodied voice of the Batman echoing from the hidden speakers.

“Alfred,” he says. “I need you in the medical bay. Please.”

“I’ll take the tray to them,” Tim says, solving the minor dilemma. 

“As you wish.” Alfred adds an additional cup and saucer as well as an array of pastries to the tray before he departs for the cave’s secret kitchen entrance, leaving Tim to find his way through the wide halls alone.

Tim retains several memories of visiting Wayne Manor from his childhood. He once attended a children’s fundraiser, a Wayne Christmas Gala, and the annual Easter egg hunt on the north lawn. At that time, Wayne Manor had entranced Tim, with its near endless marble steps, terraced gardens, hidden doorways, and windows that overlooked land and sea. But it wasn’t until he moved into the manor that he came to appreciate it. His nineteenth century architecture class probably helped. The east wing of the building is quietly preserved, cataloging the sustained rise of the Wayne family from the turn of the century to the Second World War. The west wing is an eclectic mix of mid-century modern and current modern minimalism, a mingling of Bruce, the remains of his past family, and the acceptance of his new.

Tim finds Dick and Jason in the west salon, curled together in a puddle of morning sunlight. Besides the cave and kitchen, it’s the only area that’s seen extensive redesign taking the form of a media room with sleekly comfortable couches and Wayne tech hidden in the walls, the floors, probably the pillows too. And yes, Tim’s stalling in the doorway trying to process their compromising position. Dick, deeply asleep, lies across Jason’s broad chest, face pressed into his neck. And Jason “Try touching me with a ten foot pole, I will rip it from your hands and beat you with it” Todd is not only letting him, he's also stroking Dick’s back with slow, gentle hands.

Maybe Damian wasn’t exaggerating the gravity of the situation.

Tim takes a step backwards, ready to slip away, but the movement is jerky and the cups clink together announcing his presence. Jason glances over his shoulder and beckons him in with a nod. Tim starts into the room but freezes a second time, arrested by the dark, furred ear nearly hidden in the heavy waves of Dick's hair. It that twitches towards the sound then settles. 

“Holy cow,” he exclaims. The cat-like ear twitches again.

“Shh,” Jason hisses, the sound as gentle as his hands. “This asshole has claws and a tendency to put them in me when he gets startled.”

Tim sets the tray on the sideboard table and settles into the nearest leather chair. “This isn’t what I expected when Damian said Dick turned into a cat and was irrevocably doomed.”

Jason snorts. “He would’ve said that. The brat’s throwing a fit because Dick didn’t want anything to do with him when he was in cat form.”

“Oh.” A lot of things became clear, especially when keeping Damian’s affinity with animals. And mystical creatures. “Wait. Dick has a cat form? He really turned into a cat?”

“Yes. Even more annoying than human form, if you can believe it. It was a bitch trying to get him back to the cave.”

“Yeah?” Tim watches his hands move in that slow, calming circle. It's hypnotic.

“We were on bikes, so yeah. Dick wanted to ride on my shoulders instead of inside my jacket and kept climbing out. Those claws can cut through leather and my armor.”

Tim tries to hold back his laughter, but the image of curious cat crawling out of Jason’s coat to perch on his shoulders while they tear through the city streets is too much.

“Dick the Batcat?” he giggles. 

“You laugh but the idiot actually fought knife-wielding ghoul. And won.”

“As a cat?”

“Yes.” Jason sighs, both disgusted and proud. “He’s a menace,” Jason pronounces, teasing the dip beneath said menace’s chin.

“Long live, Kittenwing?”

“That one will stick. Hey, watch this.” Jason carefully traces the tip of Dick’s newly acquired ear then starts massaging his fingers into Dick’s hair, right where the base might be. “Wait for it,” he breathes. “Wait for it.”

Dick shivers and then uncurls, body slumping into a position that is somehow more boneless than before. He spreads out across Jason, oozing into the few remaining curves and free angles along his body. And then Tim hears it.

“Is he  _purring_?” Tim asks, voice rising. It’s a deep, warm sound that vibrates between them. He reaches for his phone.

“Yeah.” Jason grins down at the sleeping hero. “It’s kind of neat, isn’t it?”

Tim takes one look at the grudging, awe-filled affection that breaks through the nonchalance Jason wears like a six mask—beneath the hood, domino, rage, anger (they’re two different things), fear and apathy—like the moon breaking free of a cloudy sky and starts texting. 

_Did you know red hot feels things for the first boy wonder?_

Stephanie answers immediately.  _Red hot does not have feelings. He has complicated issues that cannot be resolved. Not that he’s told me anything. Because there is nothing to tell and I would never betray his trust._

_Then why are you saying this?_

_Because I don’t want you saying anything to Dick._

_Wouldn’t it be better if they just talk about it?_

_Where was this insightful advice when you texted me about a certain corn-fed KS boy last week?_

Tim flushes and focuses on the real issue in front of him.  _Just saying. I think both parties would benefit._

_Maybe. What’s brought all this on?_

_Dick turned into a cat creature,_ Tim replies, sending the quick vid he snapped.

Stephanie’s notification tone chimes a full minute later, and Tim thumbs it open without a glance, attention caught with by the sharp points of Dick’s claws kneading into Jason’s abdomen. Her voice catches them all by surprise, a shriek of disbelief followed by a stream of every interrogative “Holy shit, Tim! Who? What? Where? Why? When? Which witch? How, Sway, How?”

Jason jerks upright, a dark glare that’s broken by his own yelp of pain. “Ow. Jesus fucking Christ, Dick. Fuck.” He settles back on the couch and begins to carefully pull Dick’s hand from his chest. His claws slide from the shirt eventually, nearly two inches long, curved, and edged with blood. 

“Do you need bandages?” Tim is already moving.

“I need you to get out of here if you’re not going to be quiet.” He tugs at the t-shirt revealing three large holes sliced into the fabric. “I really liked this one. That’s two you owe me, kittenwing.”

Dick chooses that moment to stir. He wakes slowly, body rolling to alertness from the bottom of his pointed toes, up to the tail—a real tail—swaying in a lazy s-shape, to the long arms that straighten over Jason’s shoulders. He yawns hugely, giving Tim a good look at the sharped points of his teeth. Then his eyes flutter open. They’re cat eyes, the same deep-water blue that Tim has come to know, but are now bisected by narrow pupils. They widen prettily as Dick becomes aware of his surroundings. 

“Jason. You’re still here?” He asks lazily, but the way his tail sways is proof that he’s pleased.

“As if I’d leave you like that.” Jason replies, frowning at the ceiling, the windows, the top of Dick’s head, everywhere except the luminous gaze fixed on him. 

“Thank you.” Dick rubs his cheek against the sharp edge of Jason’s jaw. 

“Right. This again.” Jason’s lips pinch together, face stoic and resolute, as Dick nudges beneath his chin until Jason tilts back and lets him nuzzle there and proceeds to go higher. He tenses after a moment. “Dick.” He says the name calmly and that’s a warning. “Dick. Are you grooming me?”

A flash of pink tongue darts along Jason’s temple, then back into Dick’s mouth. His ears flatten guiltily then swing forward. “Maybe,” he says, smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. “Hold still little wing.”

“Dick. Don’t you. I swear to god, Dick!” Jason yelps as the rough edge of Dick’s tongue skirts along his hairline. “I should’ve left you at the museum.” 

Tim quietly uploads his video into as many of secure servers as he possibly can. One day, Jason would thank him for it. 

One day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please look forward to the writing completing this prompt in a, hopefully, satisfying way in the future!


	7. The ballad of Rhia and Jaycie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Rule 63!Batverse (... with Jaydick, because always Jaydick)
> 
> And I agree! Always Jaydick!

Luca stumbles to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. The kitchen, a usually clean wasteland dedicated to takeout, has turned into a pastry showroom filled with rich, sweet smells. An assortment of baked goods sit on three quarters of the counter space. Jaycie reserves the remaining counter space for herself, flattening the dough of her latest confection with unusual enthusiasm. Her deep auburn hair is piled atop her head in a messy, flour-kissed bun. Her apron and hands are more liberally covered.

“Hey girl,” Luca calls, after nibbling on a warm muffin that’s like heaven in a paper cup. “What is going on here?”

“A little bit of fudge mixed in with the zucchini,” Jaycie says. She blows a wisp of hair from her eyes, then smiles. “The tiniest bit. Really enriches the flavor.”

“It does,” Luca says, eyeing the muffin with new respect. “But you know that’s not what I’m talking about.” She points to the racks of cookies dominating counter next to the sink, the freshly frosted cake surrounded by other exquisitely decorated cupcakes, the brownies, the muffins, a loaf of bread rising in the oven, and now Jaycie rolling out what is clearly pie crust. “What is all of this, Jaycie?”

“Baking?”

“It looks like a pastry shop exploded in our kitchen, so yes, I assumed you were baking. But this is stress baking. Can you tell me what it’s all about?”

“I just had a little extra energy and you know. We had all this flour and sugar from the last time….” Jaycie trails off guiltily.

“The last time? Oh no. Oh no, no, no. I can already tell I need my bra on for this kind of nonsense. I will be right back. Do not go anywhere Jaycie Todd,” she says, grabbing a warm brownie from a plate before jogging up the stairs.

The last time Jaycie went all out in the kitchen, Luca had developed her first ever cavity. Twenty years of perfect brushing and flossing done in by an exhaustless stream of treats. Never again! She tosses her night dress over the back of her chair, slips into her bra, twisting the band around and redresses in her tank top and running shorts.

Then she calls for reinforcements.

“Royri?” She knocks heavily on the door across the hallway. “Royri, are you awake yet?”

There’s the sound of a deep groan beyond the door. “I am now, bitch,” Royri croaks from beneath the covers. “But not for long!”

Luca knocks again.

“Go away.”

“Not until you come downstairs.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“We’re in crisis,” Luca says. “Full nervous bake down in the kitchen.”

Royri’s sigh is audible through the bedroom door. “I thought something smelled good. I’ll be down in five.”

The dishwasher is whooshing gently in the background when Luca trots back down the stairs. Jaycie has already lined the bottom of the pie pan with dough and is adding slices of sugared peaches and butter in delectable layers.

Luca shakes her head, braids sliding down her back. “What are we going to do with you, girl?” she asks, pulling the band free and securing them in a new ponytail.

“Support me in my time of need.” Jaycie pushes a couple peaches across the island and nods to the knife. “Peel and slice. I have enough dough for some peach tarts.”

“So you recognize this is not normal?” Luca starts peeling.

“It could be worse,” Royri says as she eases down the last set of stairs. “She could take up some of my vices.”

Jaycie snorts. “Like that would ever happen.” She glances over at the short red head, then looks again. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Kory,” Royri sighs, adjusting the sunglasses perched at the edge of her nose. “He is the greatest lover I’ve ever known. That’s right, I used the ‘l-word’ and you know how much I hate it. But it’s true.”

“Where is he?” asked Luca, sure she didn’t hear Kory a few minutes ago.

“He was leading a hike for Titans of the Great Outdoors. Left super early, the dweeb.” Royri smiled fondly as she washed her hands. “But I’m serious guys. We could be in a completely different universe, like, me this hot stud and he this bombshell princess and I’d still bend over for her. Or. Hmmm.” She’s cut off from her musings by a flying dishtowel.

“Can we please concentrate on Jaycie before getting into your nastiness? She’s avoided telling me anything.” Luca toss another towel just to keep her occupied.

“Fine, fine,” Royri says, with an exaggerated huff. “Jaybird, could you turn around for a minute? You got something on your nose. I can get it for you.”

“Sure.” Jaycie leans across the island. Her blue eyes cross trying to see the offending smudge.

“You’re welcome.” Royri smiles before catching Jaycie’s lean cheeks between her palms with a harsh smack.

“Ow,” she yelps. “Damnit, Royri! I have a knife in my hands!”

“Shh,” Royri says, voice soothing. “Let the Jaycie Whisperer work her magic.” She pulls her hands down until Jaycie’s pained frown turns into a pink pair of fish lips. “Talk to me, Jaycie. Tell me where it hurts.”

“I am going to kill you,” Jaycie growls.

“What’s that? You finally worked up the courage to ask Rhiannon out?” Royri cocks her head, the bright red ends of her hair tickling her ears. “And she said yes?”

“She said yes?” Luca pops into view, eyes rounding with surprise. Jaycie’s cheeks turn the prettiest shade of sunset. “When is this date?”

Jaycie jerks free. She rubs her sore cheeks, mumbling.

“Did she say today?” Luca looks down at Royri for confirmation.

“Today at 2. You’re meeting her at the museum, right? Because you’ve been stalking Rhia for the last, I don’t know, thirty years or so, and know there’s an exhibition at the museum that she’s been dying to see.”

“Is this true? So now you’re baking the stress away? Did you even get any sleep?” The deeper flush creeping down Jaycie’s face is all the proof she needs without hearing the actual answers—yes, yes, no—to her questions. “How do you know these things?”

Royri places a manicured finger to her cheek and grins. “Jaycie Whisperer.”

“So what’s the problem, girl?” Luca asks, turning back to find Jaycie pacing. “You’ve been dying for this moment since you met her.”

“I know!” Jaycie moans into her hands. She rounds the kitchen island and slumps onto the barstool, and then flutters her long legs in a fit of misery. She finally faces them again. “I didn’t think she’d say yes!”

Royri picks a cookie from the tray. “Why wouldn’t she say yes? What could she possibly say besides yes?”

“I honestly didn’t think she’d say anything,” Jaycie says. “Because I didn’t think I’d get the courage to ask her! And now I’m not prepared. I am just.”

“Right,” says Luca. “You are just right for her. She said yes, remember? So she’s definitely looking forward to hanging out with you more. And if this date isn’t perfect, so what? That’s what second dates are for.”

Royri hooks her chin on Jaycie’s shoulder and wraps her friend in a tight hug. “Bring her some cookies. She’ll dig them.”

 

* * *

After surveying the museum steps, Jaycie realizes she’s arrived first and that sets her teeth on edge. Her fingers curl into the sleeves of her hoodie as she fights the urge to leave.

Jaycie hadn’t lied to her friends. It never occurred to her that she would work up the nerve to ask Rhiannon out until it happened.

They had met as staff for a summer enrichment program. During those six weeks, Jaycie nursed the most ridiculous crush on her co-counselor, coming to admire everything about Rhia. Her passion for education, her love of art, her empathy and patience with the kids, the way she laughed, the horrible puns she liked to share, the way she always seemed to have time for you, no matter how busy her day appeared, the way she seemed to really listen and went out of her way to make Jaycie smile—Jaycie liked her. Add a beautiful smile and the body of a god to that list and everything about Rhia is near perfect.

If Rhia had a flaw, it was probably her popularity, but that’s only because it made spending time alone with her nearly impossible. When the kids weren’t trying to drag Rhia off to see their projects or just chat, the other counselors were popping pop up for a little conversation. There never seemed to be an appropriate time to ask if those glances Rhia threw Jaycie’s way were flirtatious or cries for help.

They’ve kept in touch after the camp ended, exchanging the occasional text and hanging at the party of mutual friends. Jaycie has been handling it well until one day when she just couldn’t anymore. She had taken a chance and asked. Rhia said yes and that had to count for something.

Taking that bit of courage to heart, Jaycie clenches her fists and stands up straight, chest out, feet spread, ready to take on the date. And for a moment, she feels wonderful.

“Jaycie?” A clear voice cuts through quiet murmurs of the many patrons who standing near the entrance to the Gotham Metropolitan Museum of Fine Art. She turns slowly to find Rhiannon Grayson climbing up the stairs.

It’s something out of a movie: the slow motion wave of Rhia’s long, jet black hair caught in a gust of wind; Rhia’s bright blue eyes fighting the crowd to catch hers; the sudden tumbling feeling in Jaycie’s tummy when their gazes meet and oh, Jaycie thinks, she moves like a song played just for her.

“Rhia!” She flaps her arms side to side beckoning her closer. “I got the tickets already.” Her voice fades as she sees a small boy trotting beside her date. He’s short and then with look of fierce concentration on his round face.

“Jaycie! I’m so sorry. I tried to call you.” Rhiannon stops on the stairs and waits as the boy reaches her.

“Yeah. I’m. My phone died when I got here.” She pulls her phone and battery pack out. The screen mournfully blinked the universal sign of dead battery. “I forgot to charge it this morning.” She’d been too busy stressing out over the date then crashed for hours after her bake down ended, catching up on lost sleep.

“My brother’s baby sitter had an emergency, so I had to pick him up today. This is Dami,” she said, tugging at his little arm. “And he’s going to be joining us. If that’s okay.” She gives Jaycie a hopeful look, like she’s worried this will be a deal breaker.

“My name is Damian,” he says using a corrective tone that causes Jaycie’s eyebrow to rise. “I am four years old.” He extends a hand and an expectant look.

“Hi Damian,” she says, engaging the little monster in a very adult handshake. The boy is clearly four going on forty-five and ready to close boardroom deals. “I’m Jaycie.”

Damian looks up at his sister. He twists fat finger into the pocket of his shorts. “Is Jaycie your girlfriend?”

“Dami!” Rhiannon’s voice cracks and her cheeks glowing a rosy shade of embarrassment.

After fighting off her own surprise, Jaycie crouches until she’s level with Damian. “I could be if this date goes well. You okay with that?”

Damian wrinkles his nose in thought before nodding. “I guess. But Rhia already likes you a lot.”

“She does?” Jaycie cuts her eyes up to find Rhiannon giggling into the palm of her hand.

“Mmhmm. She said I had to be on my best behavior because she really liked you a lot.” Damian strings the sentence together as if he’s reciting the words verbatim. “Isn’t that right, Rhia?”

Faced with two bright blue stares, Rhia can’t help but tell the truth. “I don’t know about a lot,” she says. “But she does like you, Jaycie.”

“A whole lot!” Damian chimes.

“Good. Because we need you to be on your best behavior so we can see if we like each other. Can you help with that?”

“I can help,” says Damian. He pulls at Rhiannon’s hand until it opens up for his. “But Rhia. I’m hungry.”

“Dami. Just wait until we get inside, please.”

“But I’m hungry now!”

“I can help with that,” Jaycie says to head off a mini melt down. “Can he have c-o-o-k-i-e-s?” Jaycie spells slowly already reaching into her bag for the treats.

“I can have cookies with proper supervision,” says Damian, only slightly stumbling through the longer words.

Jaycie winces. “You can also spell very well for a four year old.”

“You have no idea,” says Rhia. “And yes, he can have a cookie. But only one for now.”

Jaycie hands them both a cookie. Damian bites into his immediately.

“It’s still warm,” Rhia says, amazed. “Where’d you get them?”

“I made them,” Jaycie says, stuffing her hands into her pockets.

“Really?” Rhia takes a huge bite. Her moan is heartfelt. And those? Those are heart eyes she’s tossing Jaycie’s way.

That’s the kind of look that makes her do dangerous things. Like open her mouth and say, “Rhia? I like you too. A lot.” Jaycie’s grin threatens to break her face, swear to god. “So, I guess this date is still on.”

Rhia’s smile, wide and stained with cookie crumbs and chocolate, is just right.

After cleaning the chocolate from Damian’s cheeks, they all join hands and enter the museum. It turns out to be a very fun afternoon.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, Rhia is the adopted daughter of Elenora Bryce Wayne (Call me Ebie, darling), renowned philanthropist, children's novelist, and secret Jane Bond figure. Someone write about her! 
> 
> Also, I know Damian should be Demona or something, but he's one of the few non-63'd characters in this verse. Everyone, from Bruno and Jane Gordon to Sedrick Kyle, Roberto Montoya, and Helen Bullock are appropriately swapped. Not that this is going anywhere!


	8. You'll break instead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: jason todd lives to become the flamebird to dick's nightwing au (thanks!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was from the batch of 5 headcanon prompts from a while back. As I explained to the prompter, I headcanon badly and started to fic it out. And then it got long. And then I started editing it to post on A03, and like Calendar Boy, I ended up adding a lot more words to it.
> 
> Thanks for the prompt! It's a gift that keeps giving me ideas!

**i.**

Jason returns to Wayne Manor a deeply scarred young man. He spends much of his time alone, wandering the same four rooms like a patient wraith—kitchen, east study, sunroom, gym—and when he needs to distance himself further, Jason haunts the manor’s rooftops. His presence is felt in absence, a darkened shape that lingers in every room he refuses to enter.

 

**ii.**

For Dick, Jason's absence is a palpable feeling, a haunting silence in all the places he should be. The dinner table where Jason refuses to take meals. The bedroom where he refuses to sleep. The cave where Bruce has remained since Jason’s homecoming.

Like an immovable statue, Bruce sits in front of the computer screens nursing the fading cuts along his forearm with absent fingers. The shadows linger on his still form, festering regret building around him like a callous.

Dick can barely stand being down there, not after everything that happened between him and Bruce, not with everything that happened to Jason. The brooding quiet and the bloody mask staring at him from behind glass sends chills down his spine. It’s morbid, it’s _insane_. Jason is upstairs and he needs them, but Bruce only turns away whenever Dick tries to get Bruce to see reason. He tries. Every day, every night he tries. When he inevitable fails with Bruce, Dick will seek out Jason.

Whistling, Dick climbs to the top of the beech tree on the south lawn, rustling the long limbs, and crosses barefoot over the thick branches to the roof. The noise is to alert Jason who walks up and down the terraced rooftops waiting for Dick to appear. He’d recovered full mobility six months into his rehabilitation therapy, and now Jason hardly sits.

Jason greets Dick with a tense nod then resumes staring at Gotham City’s dark shadows which loom on the horizon. Dick picks over the old tiles until he finds an even place to settle sit that’s within Jason’s field of view. Only a few feet separate them. He considers it a privilege to be allowed this close to Jason, just outside of arm’s length. The sound of waves barely crests the cliffs, lingering as they sit under the cool night sky, the sea salt smell hanging in the air.

It’s a quiet night, similar oppressive soundlessness Dick discovered when he first came to live at the manor. But it’s changing. Had been changing. There'd been laughter in his stone mausoleum of a home. Now the chafing silence has returned.

“Hey,” he says and Jason hums in reply. He settles on something innocuous. “Alfred left a bowl for you.” He’s always setting aside food for Jason, who had stopped taking meals with them last month.

After a deep pause, Jason answers. A deep rasp colors his voice, but he can speak freely, the stutter mostly drying from his tongue. “Nice. It’s not chicken noodle soup, is it? I like it. Alfred's is just a little salty.”

“Chili actually. Said he was trying something new.” Dick flashes a quick smile over his shoulder. “Tastes pretty good.”

“Is this mission accomplished?”

Dick glances back at him, brows crooked in askance.

Jason’s face twists into a faint expression of amusement. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “He said we were going to de-culture him before he had the chance to turn us into proper gentlemen. I never thought it’d be chili that brought him low.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely feeling like a reputable member of society,” says Dick, forcing a laugh.

“Yeah? Ask me again in another couple of weeks.”

“What happens in a couple of weeks?”

Jason offers that same strange look. It flickers across his face, a reflexive motion to an emotion he cannot feel. “Thinking about getting off my ass and joining society again. I need to move.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. I keep looking out there thinking there ain’t anything for me. And if there’s nothing there, then there’s nothing _here_. I can’t be here anymore.”

Dick closes his eyes, pained. “I know. But Jason.”

“Don’t, okay? I can’t watch him go out there knowing. Just. Fuck, look at me, Dick.” Jason’s eyes are wide when Dick turns to meet them, commanding. Dick looks at him wondering how Jason could ever think he's stopped.

Jason still retains the physical characteristics that make him an attractive young man, strong jaw, bright eyes, lean cheeks made more pronounced since his long stay at the hospital. But his face is different. It’s nothing overt, nothing most people would notice. The reconstructive surgery is that good, the best Wayne money could buy. But Dick isn’t most people. He can see the slight divot at the corner of Jason’s eye that was never there before; the new straightness chiseled into Jason’s nose fixing the charming bend from his youth; the fleck of pale scarring at his temple and the corner of his mouth that gives him a perpetual sneer; the shock of white hair blooming over his left eye from the trauma; the hollowness radiating from him. Dick’s heart aches to witness that change most of all.

“Yeah. You see it. Alfred sees it but he just. He doesn’t look at me. He just goes out there as if nothing happened. As if what he does matters.”

“It does matter,” Dick says. “You matter.”

“Then why does nothing _change_?” Jason shouts. “I can’t. I don’t think I can do anything. I can’t. I can’t control anything here. Bbb.” He grits his teeth and pushes through he stutter. “Bruce. He is everywhere. I can still see the blood. And Alfred. I hate it. What it’s doing to him. What I’ve done to th—“ Jason’s teeth click together. “They don’t trust me. They can’t. And I. Jesus, I don’t blame them.”

“Come stay with me then.” The offer spills out of Dick’s mouth giving voice to the feelings his been harboring watching his brother struggle through his recovery.

Jason stares like he’s only now realizing Dick is there. He raises his hand, reaching out then steps back.

“Come stay with me for a while,” he repeats with more confidence.

“What?”

Jason takes a step back. "I couldn't. Dick, do you even know what you're saying?"

“Please, Jason. The manor may not be the best place for you right now, but being alone.” It’s not something any of them could bear at this point watching Jason slip away. “At least until you figure out what you need to do next. Think about it.”

 

**iii.**

It shouldn’t hurt so much to know that Bruce just let him go, but it does. Jason carries the ache with him after he leaves the manor. It warms the space beneath his lungs at night reminding him that he’s still alive.

 

**iv.**

Living together doesn’t go smoothly at first. Jason’s not the same ghost like figure in Dick’s apartment, but it is close. He sits in the living room reading through Dick’s book shelves. Sometimes he plays games on his phone, tablet, and if he’s not in the apartment, he’s up on the roof staring at Gotham City’s shady horizon, her jeweled lights beckoning from across the bay.

The silence doesn’t last long. Dick and Jason have always been like two squirrel with one nut, chattering and tumbling for the sake of it. They argue all the time but there’s an edge to it now. Jason feels it creeping over him like a hand on his shoulder, like he’s holding something tight in his throat and if he tries to breathe, he’ll choke. Other times it feels like he’s running out of air and that hand is closing around him, squeezing the weak muscle pumping his blood, grinding together the fine bones in this throat.

Their first real fight is explosive, angry words and slammed doors. It’s about school and how Jason should consider enrolling in the city’s magnate program in the fall. They go round and round with it, Dick firm and supportive; Jason sullen and increasingly agitated. His hands furl into fists. The longer they fight, the louder their voices get, the more his foot begins to bounce, the closer Jason gets to exploding.

And then he explodes.

It’s like he’s viewing the motion from a great distance, yet every part of the moment is sharply defined: the way he’s shaking, mouth spitting wet curses; how Dick’s eyes grow wary as he tries to stay placating, warm. His concern sends rage spiraling through Jason’s chest, so quick and filling it leaves him breathless. Jason watches himself throw the first punch, feels Dick's skin crumble under his knuckles. He snaps back to the present, dizzy and swinging his fists in wide, slashing motions. Dick slides under Jason’s guard swinging him face down to the floor in a tight hold. They land with a slap that rattles the table and chairs. They roll across the ground knocking into walls, Dick's furniture until Dick has a grip on him and forces him to stay down.

Fear chases the anger and Jason has to check his hands, has to be sure they’re empty, has to see he’s not holding that goddamn knife.

There’s no clattering to the floor this time, but the fear eats at him, drives Jason to check his hands a second time. Still empty. No blood dripping, no churning silence from Bruce, no voice in his head daring him, goading him, urging him to fight the Bat. Jason shakes with relief. He becomes aware of the pressure fitting across his body, the way Dick holds him, the soft whisper of his breath against Jason’s ear.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ve got you, little wing. It’s okay.”

“Get the fuck off me.” Jason snarls. He’s panting against the floor, chest heaving, still enraged.

Dick rolls away hands rising to stay in his line of sight. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know—“

“You don’t know shit.” Jason growls rolling to his feet. He leaves Dick there on the floor and swings out onto the fire escape.

Dick’s picking through the files and books that were knocked around during their scuffle when he returns. Jason hunkers down and begins stacking the contents of the overturned shelf. He spent twenty minutes on the rooftop letting the silence calm him. It's different from the silence that sits around Dick. All it would take is two little words, but Jason can't seem to say it. He passes Dick some magazines.

They work in silence cleaning Dick's living space until Jason cannot take it anymore. Not the way Dick looks at him or not looks at him or the careful way he avoids being within ten paces of him. That's not Dick. He hates this.

“Look. I’m. Dick,” he says, finally calm enough to try talking. “You know I’m.” The words stick in his throat. He swallows hard around the lump, breathes ready to try again, hating everything about this moment, but the boy wonder doesn’t even give him a chance to apologize. Always coming in for the save.

“It’s okay.” The corner of Dick’s mouth crooks into a sad grin. “You’re right, you know? I don’t know. You do.”

Jason tips his shoe under the side table and pulls it upright. “It’s not that I haven’t thought about it. It just doesn’t seem. Safe.” He almost whispers the word. For him, for the students, for anyone.

Dick’s movements stop. Jason tenses, turning slightly to keep his eye on Dick and his back to the wall. Dick only clenches the book in his hand so tightly that it creaks, then he tosses it to the shelf. It lands with a heavy bang. Despite watching it, despite knowing what is happening, Jason flinches. Dick runs a hand through his dark hair, tugging at the root.

“It will be. It’s gonna take time but it’ll be okay. You’ll see. But in the meantime. School’s out,” he says. “Just let me know when you’re ready to consider what it is you want to do.”

“Yeah. I will.” The problem is Jason doesn’t see. It all feels so far away.

The next fight is marginally better, marginally because the explosive anger at Dick’s quiet support after Jason suggests continuing his sessions with Dinah doesn’t end with either of them panting on the floor.

His blow up seems ridiculous in retrospect, the shooting wave of anger that came when Dick had said yes, of course Jason will see Dinah, and of course it’s Jason’s choice, impossibly wrong. How Dick can just sit there and say he trusts Jason’s decisions as if Jason hadn’t landed himself here by making all the wrong ones? He turns it over and over again in his head but doesn’t solve that puzzle.

Still, he resolves to apologize that evening, and waits in the living room letting the waves of confused anger blunt the other feelings, like guilt and fear.

Dick returns that evening wearing his BPD patrol uniform. The badge shines in the stubborn yellow kitchen lights. Dick swings some grocery bags onto the counter. He holds out another bag for Jason.

“I stopped by Cosmo’s on the way back. Got you a burger deluxe and waffle fries. Fries area little cool though. I hope that’s okay,” Dick says with a small grin.

Jason is so sick of that face, the one Dick always makes when he tells Jason it’s okay. It’s okay, it’s okay. It is not okay. He jerks the bag out of Dick’s hands. “It’s not fucking okay,” he shouts, then freezes horrified.

The mask slips over Dick’s face, calm, control snapping into place, although it doesn’t hide the fucking concern in his eyes. Jason remembers being able to do that, pull the mask on and hide what he’s feeling from the world. It slips down, settling oddly around his features after so many weeks of disuse, cracking as his lips try to twitch into that old devil-may-care grin. He can tell by the way Dick’s eyes narrow that it’s not working.

Jason turns it off.

“Jay—“ Dick starts but Jason can’t let him take this away.

“I’m going to see Dinah. Already booked an appointment. You don’t have to go with me,” he adds and it feels like _something_ to watch Dick’s face flicker if only for a moment. He just wishes he remembered what that something is. “You just have to stop saying okay. I can’t. I can’t deal with that. Everything else, even your goddamn underwear hanging out of the hamper, I can deal with it. But that. I can’t. Because it’s not. Not right now.”

Dick opens his mouth then closes it with a sigh. “I don’t know what to say, Jaybird.”

“No one asked you to say anything, alright? Just. Let’s eat.” He stalks back into the living room and his place on the couch. Dick joins him a few minutes later stripped out of uniform and into a worn sweatshirt and some shorts. He starts taking the food out of the bags, handing the burger and fries to Jason, and then a small surprise after wiping down the cup.

“Vanilla malt.”

Jason’s favorite. He takes it gingerly refusing to flinch as their fingers brush. He takes a deep breath and exhales. “Dick?” He waits until he has Dick’s attention. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” says Dick, smiling faintly. “Every time.”

 

**v.**

Somehow, life gets easier.

The fights become less frantic, more mundane. The bickering ranges from refilling the ice trays to replacing toilet paper on the roll. Jason grumbles about laundry and after that, groceries and dishes. Dick brings up the bathtub and staying out of his stuff. Music, movies, and the occasional quip, Dick’s apartment has never been filled with so much noise.

But it ends when night covers the city.

Jason never says a word when Dick suits up, and the silence builds between them then.

 

**vi.**

It has been a brutal evening, one where Nightwing used all the skills he possessed to end a tenant brawl with no casualties. Dick grips his side after securing the last suspect who instigated the brawl. In the distance, faint beneath the groans and the apartment doors shutting, he can hear sirens.

“That’s my cue,” Dick mutters to no one and drags himself towards the stairs. His left leg buckles as he rounds the second flight, and he stumbles before righting himself. “That could have been embarrassing.” He shifts his weight to compensate before climbing the railing. He balances on one foot, coiling the muscles down then springing up to catch the railing on the next floor. It doesn’t occur to him to use his grapple until he reaches the roof.

All he wants to do is put the night behind him. Nightwing swings into the smog-filled air and heads for home. It’s not until he sees the light on in hallway that Dick realizes he’s nearly two hours late. Would it be wrong of him to hope Jason is asleep right now? Yes, probably, and no.

He climbs into the apartment as quietly as he can then limps to the bathroom. He takes stock in the shower pressing at the painful spots building under the skin. Diagnosis: not that bad. A few more aches and bruises added to the list. He does have a wicked cut though and he takes the time to clean and bandage after stepping out of the water.

Dick exits a few minutes later dressed in boxers and drying his hair with a towel. The shower’s steaming heat floods the space behind him. Jason is leaning on the wall, arms crossed, blue eyes burning.

“I smell blood,” Jason says.

“Shallow cut. No stitches required,” says Dick.

“Where?” Jason demands, eyeing him closely. He stands tight, a fission of fear working into his usually placid expression.

Dick tugs at the hem of his boxes until it pulls up against his groin. There’s an angry line of broken skin slicing down his inner thigh. Jason’s fingers skim along the wound, then jerk away as if burned when the muscle jumps beneath his light touch.

“No big deal, see. Just at a sensitive angle.”

Jason brings his gaze up again. “And the guy?”

“Arrested,” says Dick after a beat.

“No.” The spark ignites in Jason’s eye, a helpless rage that’s always so close to the surface.

“Yes, arrested. Whenever possible, however we can manage. You know this,” he says softly.

“Fuck, Dick. No.” Jason snatches the towel hanging around his neck and yanks Dick closer. He watches Jason struggle to reign in his emotions, the terror and the pain. This close, he witnesses the exact moment when the rage wins. “And you’re going to tell me that’s justice? He gets a third chance? A fourth and he’s back out there ready for you. Maybe next time you’re bleeding out. And that’s okay?”

“I’m not telling you a thing. But we stay one step ahead so that nothi—“ He stops and Jason’s eyes blaze with triumph.

“But Dickiebird, something will happen,” he snaps, lining each word with the harsh inflection of his reality. “It already fuckking has.

“I know. I know.” Dick cannot say he’s sorry again. They’ve both had enough recriminations and floundering apologizes to last a lifetime between them. “This is my choice.”

“It’s his way,” Jason snarls.

“Maybe. But I’ve made it my own.”

“It doesn’t work. When are you gonna realize that, huh?” Jason growls, shaking.

“I’ve seen enough of this life on both sides of the law to think that however imperfect this is, whatever mistakes I have made, however many times we. I.” Dick draws in a quick breath. “I fail, I will get up and keep going, because I make a difference. That’s what I believe. I make a difference. You do to.”

The fists wrapped around his towel grow white while Jason searches his face. Those bright eyes are desperate for something Dick doesn’t know how to give.

Dick raises his hand slowly making sure Jason can see it before placing it on his wrist. He rubs the pale skin with his fingers, soothing. “Just tell me.”

“You think he’s always going to make it. And maybe it’s true because he always has for you.” Jason doesn’t even sound bitter, just hollow, resigned. “But one day he won’t be able to. Who’s going to be there to pull you from the wreckage, Dick?”

The narrow truth strikes Dick in the chest leaving him bleeding from the heart. Jason still sees himself as alone in this world and what has he done to change that? Perhaps that's what hurts the most. The fact that Dick has never once had to ask that question, never thought to ask it. Does he even have an answer?

Jason shoves him back against the wall. “Next time call. I don’t care how. Just let me know where you are if you’re going to be like this.”

Dick's mouth falls open but the words refuse to come. He has no idea what to say, what to promise, and he cannot tell Jason it will be fine or okay even if in his deepest heart, he believes it. “Jason,” he whispers feeling helpless but knowing he's not wrong in this.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Jason walks back to the living room. “Don’t want to hear it.”

 

**vii.**

Dinah only broaches the topic of forgiveness once. That the conversation does not go well is an understatement.

Jason tries to straighten the room up after his explosion despite Dinah’s assurance that he didn’t have to clean up. He knew he didn’t have to, but he wanted to pick up after himself, erase the storm of his temper whenever possible.

“I lost control.” He confessed, after righting the table and pulling the ottoman’s leg from the wall. “I haven’t done that in a. It’s been weeks.” He’s been staying with Dick for nearly three months now and he hasn’t wrecked a room like that since April. All that progress out the window.

“And you found it again,” Dinah says, gently.

“You'd think that but it's bribery plain and simple. Dick said next time it happened I’m cleaning under every piece of furniture I overturned.” Jason’s mouth twitches. “If you knew what his place looked like, you’d know that I’ll do anything to avoid it.”

“So things are going well now?” Dinah always provides an opening, and Jason takes it.

“I guess.” He starts to explain all the things that have been going right with Dick, the quiet he brings with his person and the noise that’s within reach when he needs it. He talked about meeting Alfred at his favorite British bakery for tea. The easy conversation, the way he asked Alfred if it was okay to shake his hand in parting. The way they both stood in the doorway hands clasped and shaking like freaks while tears rolled down his face. Not his proudest moment, but he's not ashamed either, or wasn't until Alfred called Dick to so they could both escort him home. He talks about a minor blow up at Dick afterwards, minor because Jason had simply slammed the door in his face.

Looking back, there’s a lot of things that happened this week. He gets through most of it, yawning here and there.

“Jason. Are you still not getting any sleep?” She reaches for her prescription pad, but Jason waves his hand to stall her.

“I’m not out,” he says. “I just. I just can’t sleep. Not with. Not with Nightwing leaving every night. He came home injured.” He forces the words out. “I got in his face about it. I didn’t apologize.”

“Do you feel that your actions warranted one?”

“No." I’m not wrong in this. What we. What the.” He can’t say the word. It sticks in his mouth, a bumbling hum trapped at his lips. It still scares him, the idea of being forced to call for Batman, of shouting for Batman and listening to the mad laughter when he did not appear. Realizing it didn’t matter. _He_ didn’t matter.

But Dick says he does.

Jason picks at the scaring along his fingers. He doesn't feel guilty. He just feels sick that Dick listens to him but doesn't seem to understand. 

“I don’t want what happened to me to happen to him.” Jason stares into the past, facing the horror for a brief second knowing the abyss is waiting to eat him whole with a wide, painted smile. He raises the wall built around his memories before he can see it, the smile. And for once, it’s not echoed on his own face. “I don’t want it to happen to him. I won’t let it.

“If anything happened, I’d never forgive him.”

 

**viii.**

The phone rings early one morning shaking Jason from an uneasy dream. He recognizes the phone number's prefix as Bludhaven General. A dull throb pounds through his body as his blood rushes through him. He knows it’s the call, the one he’s been dreading.

“Hello,” he says, fist clenched.

“Little wing. Hey. I don’t want to worry you, but I wanted to let you know I’m at the hospital.” Dick’s voice sounds tired, strained, but it's him, alive. Jason feels dizzy with relief.

“You’re hurt. What happened?”

“SWAT staged a raid a block away from where I was patrolling. Things got hairy. There was a chase past the perimeter. The suspect took a shot at me.”

“Nightwing isn’t bulletproof.”

Dick snorts. “Neither is Officer Grayson. Caught one in the vest that was meant for some other guy. I’m okay,” he adds softly. He hears everything Dick can’t say in their brief exchange. He knew there’d be trouble at the raid and placed himself in position to help, then further placed himself in harm’s way to save someone. Civilian, police, it didn’t matter.

Jason’s hand squeezes the phone so hard it groans protesting his grip. He’d been so focused on his work as Batman’s protégé that he’d forgotten about Dick’s vigilantism as part of the Bludhaven police. There isn’t a time when Dick hasn’t stood before the barrel of a gun and leapt toward it. And worst of all, the only reason Jason knows this about this incident is Dick's calling right now because Jason had asked. How many times has this happened and Dick's been all alone? How many times has this happened and no one knew? The phone trembles in his hand.

He can’t let the anger swallow him. He has to focus on something, anything else.

“When are you being discharged?”

“That’s the other reason I’m calling. The doc wants to release me to the care of a family member. I don’t have a concussion,” he says rather loudly. “But. You think you can come and pick me up.”

“Sure,” says Jason, already scooping the spare keys from the change bowl. “I’ll be there in a half hour.” He makes it to the hospital in twenty minutes.

Discharge takes longer than either of them would like. Paperwork is a necessary evil that they always avoided going to see Dr. Leslie. Had avoided.

Dick is still signing things when Jason walks into his room. It’s the standard grey, beige of healing and smells sterile. He allows himself a moment to look Dick over, drink in the color in his cheeks, the concentration pulling at his mouth as he reads over whatever is in his hands. Dick drops his hand to wipe at his face. The dark circles curve beneath his eyes, deepening their color. Bandages peek from beneath his hospital gown. A second set are wrapped around his head holding a compress in place.

“You look like shit, Grayson,” Jason says, then introduces himself as Jack Peters to the room’s other occupant, Sandra Pullman, BPD union representative. She blushes prettily staring between Dick and Jason with surprised eyes

Dick reaches for the hand Jason is extending for a handshake and squeezes it. “Thanks for making it, Jay.” 

“And you are….”

“He’s my family,” Dick says with a smile. It’s charming and wide, a classic Grayson smile, but sitting back against the pillows, Dick looks so fragile, haggard, small. Jason decides then and there that he never wants to see Dick Grayson in a hospital bed ever again.

Dick tries not to fall asleep on the way home, but the pain killers are finally kicking in. His mouth opens and closes against the car window leaving behind prints and drool. Dick jerks, startled, when Jason turns up the music. They stop at the pharmacy to fill Dick's prescription then go through McDealie's drive through to grab some food before returning to the apartment. Dick allows himself to be guided up the stairs, through the apartment, undressed in his bedroom. He falls heavily against the sheets and blinks up at Jason with tired eyes.

“Thanks for being here, Jay,” he mumbles, fumbling to grab his hand again. His fingers feel a little clammy but Jason doesn’t shake him off. That’s the second time today he let it happen. 

“You can’t go to sleep you, idiot. You know this.”

“I know. I know. I just want you to know I’m glad. I’m glad you’re here.” He sounds loony, drifting on the last of his pain medication, but so sincere.

Jason looks away. "Remember that next time I eat your cereal," he mutters.

"You can eat all my cereal," Dick says, reaching up for Jason's face. It takes three times to find it and he grins. "I don't mind sharing with you."

"They really gave you the good stuff didn't they?"

"Always. Watch TV with me?"

Jason sighs heavily but sits on the edge of Dick's bed. He searches for something loud, a lot of shouting. Reality television. It works. The constant outbursts keep jostling Dick from sleep whenever Jason's too involved to poke him into wakefulness. Together, they discover the house's game and figure out a way to exploit the camera's secreted about the building.

"We should go on together. We'd make a great team," Dick says out of the blue. "We know how the other works, how our strengths go together. We think alike. And we’re already finish each other’s sandwiches.”

Jason looks down at him, gaze fond. “Don’t you mean sentences?”

“No. I know what happened to my cheesesteak.”

Jason's snorts, an almost laugh that's almost rusty with disuse. “Shut up.”

 

**ix.**

Most mornings Jason find still awake counting down until he hears the slide of glass and the light thump that meant Dick returned form patrol. He can’t sleep until it happens. He can’t close his eyes without seeing someone he knows plastered against his lids. They’re always bound and bleeding and silent, but behind the opaque film hiding their eyes, they are all begging to be set free. Over time, the person has become Nightwing. Trusting, truthful, honest Nightwing who thinks he’s doing the right thing. Who thinks that the one life he might save can balance the one he cannot, the tens he’ll never know about, the thousands they cannot reach who are trapped and alone and begging to be set free.

Tonight feels worse than others. The atmosphere is damp and heavy from the storm rolling over Bludhaven. Clouds cover the sky. The ponderous sound of thunder rattles the glass in Dick’s shitty apartment fooling him every time.

It’s hot on the futon. The air sticks to his skin, weighs him down. Jason curls into a tight ball before rolling to his feet. Sweat drips from the nape of his neck and down his chest carving trails through his flushed skin. He plucks at the damp shirt collar deciding to wait for Dick in his room. It’ll be better to see him after all, make sure that he’s returned unharmed now rather than catching him limp across the kitchen later.

The plan seems like a solid one until Jason reaches the bedroom doorway. He hesitates there, palm resting on the handle. Dick has done so much to respect Jason’s privacy. The guilt churns in his gut at the idea of violating the shared respect. But Jason has to know that Dick’s made it back. He _has to._

Pushing through those anxious thoughts, Jason enters. The bedroom is surprisingly sparse. The air is a little crowded by stale sweat, but that’s because Dick has two costumes hanging on the back of a desk chair which sits opposite chest of drawers. The bed is nestled against a wooden headboard with lamps embedded between the slats. The closet door is closed. He settles into the chair and realizes that the chair is broken. It swings lazily off center. Every motion he makes ends in a fight to keep his seat. His leg keeps bouncing, so he digs fingers into his leg stop it. It doesn’t stop.

It takes forever for Dick to climb through the window, but he does, eventually, and the wave of relief sweeping through Jason is palpable.  

Dick pauses on the windowsill, a faint look of surprise washing over him. He hangs in the shadows watching Jason watch him. He bites his lip, a thinking action, of something to say that will make this less weird somehow, less pathetic, but Dick’s body is open to Jason, as if he’s still not worried that what happened to Bruce will happen to him.

“That chair is broken.” Dick peels the gloves from his hands and starts to remove his domino mask. “You can sit on my bed if you want. I don’t mind.”

“You good?” Jason asks, ignoring him.

“I am,” he says. “Easy night. Not bragging or anything.” He raises his voice a little bit as if apologizing to the deities that live to screw over heroes. “Just. Quiet out there. Has been for the last two nights.”

“And no.” Jason feels pathetic, but he forces the words free. “No injuries.”

Dick straightens. “Not even a scratch tonight. As good as it is to see your cute little scowl welcoming me home, shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Jason stands arms uncrossing, crossing like he can’t quite figure out what to do with them. He mumbles something into his hand.

“Huh?”

“I can’t. Sleep. Until I know you’re. You know.” His face tightens after the confession.

"Come here if you can't sleep," Dick says. "We can not sleep together."

“You’re an idiot,” Jason says as he stomps out the room.

All that matters is that Dick is safe.

 

**x.**

“What’s this?” Dick picks up the notebook that’s resting over his coffee mug. He rubs the condensation slicking the plastic cover over the knee of his uniform pants before opening it.

“Looked some of your files the other day. I don’t care if you’re pissed,” Jason adds, flipping a lazy middle finger up over the couch. “Because I connected those public works thefts to your transit ring.”

“How?” Dick walks over to the living room scanning Jason’s notes. He drops onto the couch, narrowly avoiding Jason’s feet, before flipping the page. “Canarsi?” The name is circled three times and then outlined in flames.

“Canarsi.” Jason’s grin is faint and smug. “There’s an account that ties back to that rental furniture place on Hollins. His holdings owns that building and the warehouse that’s on the other end of the block.”

“Jason.”

“I know.”

“ _Jason_.”

“I know.”

“ _Thank you_.” There’s no reason for his smile to be that big, for his eyes to glow as if Jason gave him a precious gift, but he does. Dick’s like that, the sap.

Jason hunks his shoulders up. “Yeah well. You needed a second pair of eyes. But don’t get used to it.”

Dick raises a fist and waits. Jason brings his own up and taps Dick’s knuckles gently.

Despite Jason’s warning, Dick does get used to it. He doesn’t ask how many hours Jason spends reading through his case files—official and unofficial—but every couple of days, he receives an update from Jason’s notebook. Sometimes the leads are good, sometimes there are no connections, but Dick follows up on them as Officer Grayson or Nightwing.

 

**xi.**

Having a dependable poker face is a requirement for vigilantes. They must be able to flat line emotional response of any kind at any moment. Jason’s emotions have always run closer to the surface, and now Dick can see them curling beneath Jason’s skin. He’s waits, needs, but Dick’s not sure for what.

He thinks he finds the answer, or at least, the path to one when he suggest Jason join him for a run.

There’s a flash of emotion almost too quick catalogue, but Dick manages to see the _fear, pain, joy_ before it’s wiped away by a frown.

“Do I what?”

“Do you want to go on a run with me? Up to the park and back. If we loop the park and come back on Delany, it’s about three miles.” He doesn’t add that he thinks it’ll be good for Jason to get out of the apartment. He leaves only to run to the fruit stand by the train or climb out to the fire escape and visit the roof.

Jason looks own at his feet. “I don’t have any running shoes.”

“Do I look like, an amateur? Come on, little wing. I’ve got something that should fit you.”

Jason follows all the way into Dick’s closet, where he stands in open-mouthed awe. “Why do you have so many shoes?”

“An outfit is created by the accessories,” he says, adopting Alfred’s posh tones. “And I can’t resist a sale. Some of these run a little big. Here.” He pulls out a box from its place on the wall dedicated to running shoes, although those shelves are being slowly overcrowded by his basketball shoe collection.

Jason hops onto the edge of Dick’s bed and unwraps the sneakers. “Why is it you have a million dollar closet system but your kitchen looks like a slum lord special.”

“Hey,” says Dick, feeling a little wounded. “It’s not that bad.”

“Your cabinet doors are about to fall off, your fridge hums, your cold water pipe sounds like orcas giving birth, and this morning, your cockroaches asked me to pick up more coffee. It’s that bad.” Jason stamps his feet into the shoes before nodding his approval. “Let’s go for a run.”

“Last one back has to apologize for hurting my feelings,” Dick says.

“In your dreams.”

 Jason’s hands only shake the slightest bit as he leaves the apartment, and if Dick notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Running becomes another one of their things. Early in the morning before Dick crashes after patrol or in the early evening when Officer Grayson returns from work, they hit the pavement, eventually adding distance. And Dick likes it, the feeling of having someone at his side.

 

**xii.**

Dick starts waking up at the gentle dip in his mattress and again when Jason’s quiet breath clouds over his cheeks. It happens more frequently throughout the weeks. Jason waits for him to return from patrol and then, sometime in the early morning hours, he returns to crawl onto the bed with him. Dick starts leaving his door open cracked at night. The next week, he puts Jason’s pillow on the left side of the bed.

Jason’s sitting with his back pressed against the headboard when Nightwing crawls down from the skylight entrance that same night. The lamp puts a warm glow into the room illuminating the tight grip Jason has on the book.

Dick settles into the bed after his shower. The sheets smell freshly laundered. He sighs, pleasantly surprised.

“I sleep better here.” Jason mutters. His eyes are narrowed rather belligerently at the page, and Dick realizes he read into that small sound. “I sleep at all, really.”

This close Dick can see the fires lighting in Jason’s eyes flaring as he sits vulnerable and tense beside him. Dick thinks about what to say, discards everything after turning it over in his head once, twice. Jason hates that kind of consideration but Dick can’t find help but consider everything when it comes with Jason. 

“Yeah, I know.” He nudges at Jason’s hip until he looks down at him and offers him a lazy smile. “Me too, little wing.”

 

**xiii.**

Dick doesn’t have many tells, but his one for bad news is obvious and annoying. He calls Jason up to the living room and says they need to talk about something.

Jason flops into his spot with determined nonchalance. He’s determined not to engage the anxious thoughts buzzing in his head. Asking Jason to leave. Demanding that Jason leave. Sending him back to the manor. Talking to Dinah behind his back. What if he _knows_? Jason’s heart rate picks up. What if Dick knows what he means to him and is trying to take that away?

“I’m leaving for a mission in the morning,” Dick says.

“You’re leaving,” repeats Jason, somehow stuck on that fact. Leaving but coming back. Forces himself to relax. “With the league?”

“YJ. Intel op, thirty-six hours max.” Dick takes a deep breath, like maybe this is hard for him too. “I want to know if you want to come with me.”

Jason’s heart stops. He’s not sure what his face is doing but Dick’s pushing up from the couch and edging closer, hands up.

“Just to the harbor. Just to the harbor, Jay. I thought it’d be better, easier to contact you if you’re there. If I need to call you.” He means if something goes wrong.

Inviting Jason to go into a den of superheroes and stay for nearly two days without him there? What is Dick thinking? Jason’s foot starts bouncing on the floor. On the other hand, Dick will need somehow who can watch his back. Who knows what’s really out there. Who knows the real dangers because they understand there are no rules.

“I can’t,” Jason says, shaking his head.

“Alright,” says Dick. No inflection. He's disappointed? Worried? Jason bites his lip trying to figure out how to explain this, but he doesn't have the words.

“I can’t do it. Don’t ask me something like that again. I mean it.”

“I know. I’ll. I’ll figure something out. Hey.” He taps Jason’s foot. “We’ll figure something out.”

He comes back a few hours later with a small box in his hands. He tosses it at Jason singing out, “tada!”

Jason stares at the flat disks no bigger than a nickel. “What’s this?”

“Nightwing special,” Dick says. “I was working on modifying these league communicators. But this is better. Just put it behind your ear like this.” He lifts the heavy locks of his hair back so Jason can see the slight shine of a disk curving against his skin.

“How does it blend with your skin tone like that?” Jason asks, picking one up from the container.

“I told you. Modifications. I've been trying to get them to mimic skin, sweat, discoloration so they go undetected. All that good stuff.” Dick grins proudly. “We can reach each other with these. Anytime. Every time. I'll always be able to find you.

No, Jason thinks, tucking it against his skin. He'll always be able to find Dick.

 

**xiv.**

Perhaps it’s the way fog thickened around Bludhaven this time of year swallowing the light down, or perhaps it was the fact that Dick had been running on minutes of sleep scraped together over the past three days, or perhaps he recognized the presence and shrugged it off. Whatever the reason, Dick admits that he didn’t notice the shadow trailing him until it dropped to his side intercepting the blade. He stops momentarily, surprise thrilling the adrenaline coursing through him.

“R…Ja…Flamebird!” He calls over the fray. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t call me that,” Jason mutters, drawing his fist back for a punch.

They move through the wave of enemies like a synchronous whirlwind of pain. Dick goes high, Jason goes low, and the poor saps thinking this corner of the city is outside of Nightwing’s influence go down hard.

The police arrive just as they tie the last man to the lamp post. Dick shoots a grapple into the air, watching as the wire grow taut. “Come on,” he says, opening his arms to Jason, who stares at him. “Don’t be like that, Flamebird. Come on!”

“I said don’t call me that. Dickface.” Jason gingerly steps into his embrace and the spiral into the night.

It’s not until they’re rooftops away in a safer neighborhood that Dick gets a good look at Jason. He’s wearing a Nightwing prototype he’s been working on in dull grey and a red hooded sweatshirt. His face is hidden within its shadows, but Dick can see the fire burning in his eyes, filling Jason in a way that he has missed. It’s a fierce mix of anger and pride, pride that he has managed to get one over on those punks. Anger because that’s the state that still can’t seem to escape. Fierce because there’s a welling of blood coming from his nose.

“Here.” Dick hands a small packet that contained a disinfecting wipe. Jason’s hands tremble faintly. His deep eyes glitter as he follows Dick’s movements, but he takes it and silently cleans his face.

When the silence gets to be too much, Dick lets the questions flow. “Why are you here? I called you,” he says, because he’s been trying to communicate with Jason whenever he can. “Less than an hour ago.”

Jason shrugs and somehow falls deeper into his hoodie. “You sounded bad.”

“I sounded bad?” Dick had been squirming through ductwork in a mid-century monstrosity while kicking some hired muscle in the face. He had been yanked free while on the channel with Jason and thrown into a flotilla of boxes that had been filled with packing peanuts. It might have sounded bad, but he’d been fine. “I told you I was fine.”

“You sounded _bad_.” Jason insists. He crumples the trash into his fists then thrusts them into his pockets. “You sounded like you needed. I don’t know. You just needed something.”

“Help?”

“Me!” Jason shouts, then curses under his breath. 

“Oh,” he says, then, “ _Jason_.”

“Stop. It was stupid. I was. Stupid.”

“So you tracked me down. How?”

“I’m the one who put the drops in order,” Jason says.

“Hey! I cracked the code.” Dick reminds him with a growing smile. “And you came here to save me.”

Jason looks away but he doesn’t deny it.

“And you did.” He steps forward into Jason’s field of view. “You did. Just now, Jaybird. Thank you.”

Jason jerks back, startled. “Huh?”

“Thank you for letting me know that I’m not alone out here. That I’ve got someone watching my back.”

Jason's smiles are still few and far between, but he smiles then, a tiny bend for just for Dick. "Come on Nightwing. I'll race you home."


	9. You keep me warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Dick's a big fan of spooning, but once he's in a relationship with Jason he discovers by accident he loves cock warming and gets addicted fast. Of course his Little Wing is the little spoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We earn our explicit rating with this one.

Dick slouches on the couch ready for pleased that his plans for a movie night worked. It’s been another week of low crime rates since Nightwing and the Red Hood joined forces in the beleaguered city of Bludhaven and Dick had been able to call an early night to his evening patrol. The movie’s projecting onto the screen, a beer’s at his elbow, and Jason’s with him. It’s all the makings of a perfect evening.

Their relationship—Dick can call it that since they’ve progressed from fighting crime together to dating, and now to moving in together—has reached a level of comfort and security that came from honest communication. They’ve worked really hard to maintain their openness, too. Movie nights are only a small part of it, but Dick admits to being very partial to them, since they’re from his list.

The phone rings, and Dick doesn’t hesitate after seeing the caller. “I’m going to take this, okay?”

Jason’s lashes flutter but he doesn’t protest.

“Hey, Timbo,” he says, brushing fingers through Jason’s soft hair. “What’s going on?”

“I’m pulling together intel for a new case. You got a minute?”

“All the time in the world for you, little brother. What do you need?” He spends the next few minutes listening to Tim outline a series of seemingly unrelated thefts from two technology companies in Gotham. Standard stuff. But Tim is convinced that they are related and possibly involve security breaches reported three weeks ago from research laboratories in Massachusetts and the Bay Area.

“What’s your connection?”

“Facial recognition ties two people at alpha site and delta site on the day of the thefts. But they’re a partial match, which brings me to the purpose of this call. Do you have anything on a Slossmen Inc.? They may be former employees.”

“Don’t think I’ve heard of them.”

“It’s a procurement firm that started in Jump City but moved down to LA a few years back,” says Tim. “They’re known for moving high-tech and alien-tech.”

Dick sighs, shifting his hips up from the cushions. Jason chokes weakly, eyes closed and his mouth full of Dick’s cock. “Have you asked Jason?”

There’s a pause. “Do you think the answer is anything other than no?”

“He’s good for info about these kind of teams. Transporters, gun runners, anything really. Profiles are always thorough.” Anything Jason spends time on is neatly detailed, exacting. Perfect.

Tim’s laughs. “Come on. We just got on speaking terms. I don’t want to all of the sudden ask to run through his case files.”

“What’s the harm in asking? Jason’s doesn’t mind. He’s pretty open right now.” Open and hot, throat working gently.

“Like it’s a good time to talk to him?”

“No, it’s date night. No shop talk for him,” Dick says, a little too quickly. The last thing he wants is to have his time interrupted by more case talk. Jason gives a hitching sound, as if he agrees. “Like he’s open if you just come out and ask him for it. Just ask him. He’ll give you what you need.”

A light flush blooms across Jason’s cheeks. He moans, this soft deep sound that rumbles up Dick’s belly and somehow, somehow, he slides the slightest bit deeper into Jason’s throat.

“If you say so,” Tim says, disbelief drips from every word.

“He’s good, Tim. I swear.” Dick fights to keep his voice steady when Jason moans again. It’s beautiful, the pale skin of Jason’s throat flexing as he swallows and swallows. Dick thumbs the corner of his mouth to wipe away the slick of precome and saliva gathered there.

“Fine. I’ll ask him tomorrow. That’s enough shop talk. How are things with you?”

“Great. Excellent. I’m pretty happy these days.”

“A good relationship with do that.”

“Yeah,” Dick says, smiling down at his boyfriend. “It really will. Hey, Jason’s going to be coming in a few minutes. Do you mind if we cut this short? I want to finish up here before he does.” He trails off letting the words seep into Jason’s skin.

“No problem. Tell him I’ll give him a call sometime tomorrow.”

“I will,” Dick promises. “Later, Timbo.”

“Night. And thanks for the help.”

Dick tosses the phone to the other end of the couch with a sigh. He starts stroking Jason again, letting long fingers drag over his broad shoulders, the pull of tendons over Jason’s chest. There aren’t too many places where Jason is soft. His skin, yes, but his body is hard all over, lines, muscles, scars. Thick in all the places Dick likes, chest, thighs, mouth. Jason’s mouth is the only soft thing about him. Cruel and soft and devastating and _perfect_. He traces the swollen flesh stretched over him, worries at the corners. Jason lets him.

Jason’s arms are pulled back to keep his wrists crossed behind him. He’s stayed in this same position, knees, arms, mouth open, for nearly an hour. And he didn’t balk when Dick picked up the phone.

“Thank you for being so good for me,” he says, voice taking the quiet, attentive tone that coaxes a shivers down Jason’s spine.

It all started with Jason’s list. During a seriously long conversation, Jason detailed what sexual acts he’s taken part in, which he prefers and, sometimes, why. Dick has always considered himself an experienced, adventurous, and satisfying partner, but Jason’s frank discussion had left Dick to consider his own desires. And since Dick never did anything by halves, he’d sat down and started his own list, things he’d experienced, things that aroused his curiosity, things that he wanted to try, and brought it to Jason. That discussion had be freeing. Somewhere along the way, Dick realized he’d gained Jason’s trust, and talking about other things, big important relationship things, got easier. Just the idea of making it this far with Jason, having this type of freedom to be together, having trust makes Dick feel strong and precious, dizzy and tingly all over. And warm. Jason always makes him feel so damn warm.

The movie is almost finished, but Dick has no idea what’s going on. He can only focus on how good he feels, how good Jason is making him feel.

Heaviness coils within him, a dull throbbing rush that draws his sac tight. Dick slides two fingers underneath and rubs the skin there nearly jumping at how sensitive the skin feels there. “I wish you could feel how full I am,” he says. “Saving it for you. My perfect cock warmer.”

Jason whines. His tongue flicks at the base of Dick’s cock trying to reach his balls, trying to get what he needs. The wet, begging touch is a touch shy of what either of them wants, but Jason keeps trying. It’s a big part of what defines him, how he’ll never back away from a challenge, always goes after what he wants. Jason swallows and fucks himself down on Dick. He chokes, breathes through it, nostrils flaring. Color bleeds down his neck to his chest, his swollen lips grip at the dick in his mouth, slides and fucks until he trembles, but slow. Pacing himself. Staying a warm hole for Dick.

“So good. So good, little wing.” The pet name drives Jason wild. Dick knows because Jason told him, confessed what it meant to be on his knees like this, mouth open like this, for Dick like _this_.

Boundaries, Dick thinks, an awed smile pulling at his lips. They drew lines in the sand and then flew straight past them.

His foot slips between Jason’s legs pressing against the hard dick trapped in his jock. Dick smiles at Jason’s first hesitant push. “You can. I want to see you. Hey. Hey.” He pets Jason’s cheek, lightly then a little harder. “No, no. Don’t stop. Just. Open your eyes for me.”

Jason squeezes them tighter. Sweat trickles from his temple and across the sharp cut of his cheek to his nose like a tear. He grinds against Dick’s foot, faster, hips dropping low and sliding up spreading the damp fabric for more friction, more pleasure, close to coming.

“Jason, open your eyes,” Dick says, voice firm, and after another choking pause, Jason opens his eyes then, just enough to let Dick see the swirl of gray-blue, the challenge glittering there. Damn if that doesn’t get to him, knowing all that strength and rage is still simmering just below the surface. Knowing it’s gentled for him. Dick plants his feet and starts thrusting, gentle nudges until Jason finds the rhythm and then it’s perfect. It’s so fucking perfect. Dick heart stutters in his chest, his belly pulls taut. He’s close too.

“You look so very good. You are so good.” He cups Jason’s cheek, whispers, “Little wing.” Spills down Jason’s throat with a weak moan.

Jason swallows what he can, strangled gasps choking out, while he stares Dick in the eyes and shakes apart on his knees for Dick.

Finally, when it’s almost too much, Jason pulls off of Dick’s cock with a dirty slurping sound and rests his head on Dick’s thigh. He breathes deeply, exhaling in hot pants that wash over Dick’s skin like a summer inferno. Dick pets along Jason’s skin, his cheeks, his hair, anything to keep that connection strong until they can find the strength to move together. It returns eventually, the sacked out feeling of orgasm dissipates leaving Dick with a need for more closeness. He pulls Jason from his knees onto his lap and holds him tight.

There’s nothing Dick doesn’t enjoy about this but coming down together, he likes that a lot. Feeling Jason’s weight spread across his lap, feeling every inch of hot skin melting apart. Feeling the frantic pulse beating on both sides of his chest like he has two hearts struggling to find one rhythm. But they find it together. They always do. He cups Jason’s nape, presses soundless kisses against Jason’s jaw and neck. He could do this for hours, hold him, be allowed to just be. 

Finally, Jason sighs, sitting up. He looks wrecked, hair tousled by Dick’s hands, eye rimmed red. His face is still flushed, spit and come drying along his chin. Mouth swollen to sweetness.

“Let’s go to bed,” Jason rasps, and it’s so hot. Hearing Jason sound raw, ravaged. 

“Okay.” Dick takes Jason’s cheeks in his hands and leans forward, up. “Just let me,” he says and kisses Jason, licks his dirty mouth with a moan. He’s going to get hard again. He’s going to be dizzy with it, Jason’s voice and that sweet mouth.  

They make it to the bedroom with only a few stops on the way. Bathroom break. Brush teeth. Dick wets a face towel with warm water and wipes Jason’s face. He strips the jock from Jason’s long legs and then washes the come from between his thighs. And Jason let’s him, leans back against the sink, relaxed and sharp-eyed. His mouth parts when Dick teases his cockhead, and Dick pushes up to kiss him again, smiling a little when Jason nips at his tongue, falling from docile to playful. Jason welcomes the kiss though, opens to let Dick’s tongue sweep against his, suck on those soft lips. Jason’s fingers graze over Dick skin stopping at his chest to pinch Dick’s left nipple between his thumb and forefinger until Dick’s cock starts to fill. The kiss goes from lazy to intense and Dick pulls away, hissing.

“Bed.” Jason pushes him back. “Let’s go.”

“Fine, fine.” Dick tidies up before leaving the bathroom. Just part of their give and take. 

Jason’s already curled on his side of the bed. Dick climbs in behind him inspecting the pillows before adding the coldest one just over the edge of Jason’s. 

“Get the light?” he asks, kissing the back of Jason’s neck, spreads his ass apart to find him already slickened. 

Jason doesn’t tense as much as he becomes alert, back arching slightly. “Go ahead,” he says.

Dick presses the head of his cock to Jason’s perfect hole. That and the need to feel his warmth wrapped all around gets Dick there, firm. He’s soft, wet, and ready, opening up to the steady pressure until Dick is inside. He curls around Jason and closes his eyes.

 


	10. Trial by fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Jason Todd gets adopted by Wonder Woman instead of Batman. What's different, what's the same?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This skewed more towards "a Jason Todd adopted by Wonder Woman and the Amazons joins Young Justice," but I feel the spirit of the prompt is still strong within this one.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**[Keros, Greece]**

**June 21, 2:15 PM**

The Amazon princess knelt astride the giant’s great chest blazing with light amidst the whirling magic. A twist of the sword ended its horrible moans. It fell backwards, a lumbering collapse of bone and blood that shook the very earth. Slowly, the swarming air settled and the sinking sun cut through the grey mist of destruction. Diana stood and with a great cry wrenched the sword free from the giant’s heart.

Jason lowered his shield and stared at his mentor and sworn shield-sister, awed and proud. Slowly, the Amazons rose to their feet taking up the triumphant cry.

“For the victory!” Jason laughed, turning to nudge Tadita, another of his sisters who had shared the protection of Jason’s shield from the falling stones, but she did not move. He pressed his fingers to her pulse. It flickered beneath his fingers and her breathing was shallow and slow. There was only so much he knew to do: keep the airways open and check for wounds. “Help! Sister please, we need help.” His shouts cut through their celebration.

The warriors formed a ring around Jason. Help came in the form of two warriors who swiftly began preparing to move Tadita from the battlefield when she twitched and then gasped hugely, gulping and sputtering air. Jason gripped her hand and squeezed watching her dark lashes flutter.

“Tadita,” he said. "Are you alright?"

“I am fine,” she rasped. “Lend me your strength. I want to stand.”

“Are you sure?”

Tadita smiled woozily. “I’m not going to let our littlest one celebrate without me,” she said, and with that, grasped his forearm and willed her body standing. Jason lifted both their arms and together, they roared to the skies.

The Amazons set camp on the beach building their cooking fires upwind of the purifying flames which burned the last of the malformed Hadedic blight that had swelled from the Underworld. In the morning, they would search for the remaining vestiges of the blight, but tonight is for celebrating their good fortune.

In a circle they stood, twelve strong and same in number as when the battle had begun. They clasped hands and sang in thanks of their gifts and in praise of their strengths.

Jason found himself pushed into the center and his sisters whispered his name, “Jason, Jason,” until it fell like the sibilant hush of rain.

“Jason who held the front line with his sisters.”

“Jason who slew the goat head of the chimera.”

“Jason,” Tabita sang his name with a bright smile. “Who protected his sister from the fires in the sky.”

“Jason who is a brother to us all.”

Nearly three years had passed but that scrawny kid who dared to find and then spray paint Wonder Woman’s invisible jet still remained. That kid had been restless, lonely, and lashing out at the world to take notice of him, to want him.

He looked into each of their shining eyes and felt, not for the first time, that he finally had found his home and his purpose. He looked to Diana and her gaze was filled with an endless feeling, and in that moment, Jason understood she felt it too.

It was time.

 

* * *

 

**[Happy Harbor]**

**August 3, 10:03 AM**

Wally raced out the dark cavern hiding the Young Justice headquarters from the world. The yellowed grass anchoring the dunes whipped and folded in his wake. After circling the compound twice, Wally finally found the object of his search standing on a point overlooking the glistening waters.

He slid to a stop sending a spray of sand and rock into an arch behind them. The displaced air created a soft sucking wind that drew everything within a three meter radius upwards. It used to be a lot more entertaining for Wally when Dick had a cape, but he’s traded up his Robin persona for Nightwing now. Nightwing was infinitely more cool, but also infinitely less fun.

“Are they here yet?”

“Just arrived.” Dick pointed to the sky then started finger combing his hair until it looked artfully tousled. “See.”

“Really? Where?” Pulling both hands over his eyes, Wally began searching the air, but the clear, blue skies above Happy Harbor gave away nothing. “I don’t see anything.”

“And you never will. Invisible jet, remember?”

Suspicion tugged at his brain, but Wally ignored it. “Well aren’t you coming to meet them? I know I’m curious about this whole deal.”

“I’m not curious.”

"Come on. You can't tell me you're not curious about a Themysciran warrior that happens to be _male_.”

“I read his application, remember?” Dick said, turning back towards the base.

“So what? You know his shoe size and how much he’d like to save the world, but does it tell you anything cool? I’m going to go see that jet.” Wally zipped forward, sucking wind in a quiet pop to mark his passing. He whooshed back at Dick’s side before the de-caped crusader had taken a second step. “Wait. You’re telling me that we’ve got superheroes applying to this team now? How do they even know about us?”

“They go to the website,” said Dick.

Wally paused, aghast. “YJ has a website?”

“No,” says Dick laughingly. “I’m just messing with you.”

“I knew you were,” said Wally. “There’s no way. Child labor laws and all that.”

“They can apply through their mentors or partners with the league now.”

Wally eyed Dick sharply, but his face was as honest as one can look with a black masked barring the soul windows, which is to say not at all. On the other hand, nothing Dick was saying meant he couldn't be trusted either. “Yeah, sure. Whatever, Buttwing. Bats probably has a file on him that’s six miles long.” Wally’s feet vibrate as they make their way down the escarpment. “So lay it on me, brother. What’s the dude’s deal? How many skulls he can crack with his fist? How many babes he macked on while on the island?” Wally glanced at his best friend. “Has he even been on the island?”

Dick’s expression flattened into his inscrutable face, the one that made him look constipated. Wally darted in and ruffled his hair again. “Stop that,” he complained. “And those are questions you can ask him.”

“Don’t think I won’t." Wally darted in for another sweep of Dick’s hair. “It’s about time we get someone cool on the roster.”

“We both know you drop the coolness by twenty points when you’re on a mission.”

“I am the coolness. I brought it back! Like sexy.” Wally executed an awkward shimmy and spin that ended on his toes. Dick winced.

“Yeah. Sure. Just like that.”

Wally grinned extra wide just for his friend. “Exactly like that. Now come on! I want to talk to the guy before the whole trial thing.”

* * *

Traveling by zetatube would take some getting used too. Jason stepped from the metallic platform once his stomach had finished twirling around in his body. It was a cautious step, one that tested his balance and resolve, but he made it and the next without falling.

Cassie leapt down to the platform with a grin. “How ya feeling?”

“Like my body started out as 2D and decided to go 4D halfway through the trip,” he said.

“That’s what interdimensional travel will do to you,” she said, nudging him gently as they walked to where Diana waited. Jason welcomed the reassuring pressure of her shoulder against him. It made the next few steps easier. And it definitely ensured Jason stayed on his feet when zetatube thrummed again and the planet’s greatest heroes came striding through the white light.

A part of Jason felt outside of his body like he was experiencing everything through a screen. That part was knock-kneed and grinning when the Flash zipped up to Diana and embraced her. He could feel energy pulsing from the red suit, quick and light. It made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Then Superman came striding out of the light radiating a sense of purpose that was both profound and shared. He shook Jason’s hand and introduced himself—as if freaking Superman needed to tell people who he was what with the “S” on his chest and the ridiculously carved cheekbones—and gave Jason a few words of encouragement. He welcomed Jason as if he were already part of something greater. Jason mumbled, “Thank you,” to the man in what he hoped was a steady voice.

Then Gotham’s very own walked out of the tube and that outside part of Jason went wild. Full heart eyes, sweaty palms, and wearing that Batman t-shirt he'd begged his mother to buy him all those years ago.

Batman’s cape billowed heavily as he stalked toward them. He was tall, taller than Jason and built out of sharp rocks, hard and angled. His suit made him look even more jacked, like he was ready to tackle a twelve story tall wildebeast with his bare hands and win. Jason stared in open amazement when Batman cupped Diana’s hand and leaned forward to kiss the back of her fingers.

“Princess,” he said in a voice that rumbled like thunder.

“Batman,” Diana murmured and then tilted her in regal acknowledgement. “It has been too long.”

The part of Jason that was present felt a vibe in the air. A vibe that made his eyes want to pop out of his head because no way. _No way_. Then the moment was shattered by the sound of his name. He looked down and found Batman’s gauntlet extended out to him.He’d been planning for this moment for a while now. He didn’t want to mess it up. He wouldn’t mess it up.

Jason caught Batman’s arm in an Amazonian grip.“Batman. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Batman’s mouth twitched into something somewhat less formidable. “You’re from Gotham,” he stated in that same low voice.

Jason blinked, surprised. He stared at Batman, he knew it but he couldn’t stop. It was like looking into the furry face of an amusement park mascot. He knew it was real, but the reality of the moment made everything surreal. And also, he just compared Batman to a furry. Jason dropped his arm rather quickly and nodded.

If Batman took offense, he didn’t show it. “Touring Row?”

“Yeah,” Jason said grinning. Batman knew his neighborhood. How, Jason couldn’t guess, but it made sense. He was the world’s greatest detective. “I was running in the 216.” He hadn’t used his area code in years.

“That would mean you’ve had galaktoboureko from Angela’s.”

“Holy sh… I mean. Yeah. Of course. It’s the best in the city.”

“I agree.”

Jason recognized Diana’s sly grin immediately. “Batman. You never mentioned that you enjoyed sweet things.”

Batman folded his body beneath the cape becoming a heavily muscled shadow. “It never came up in conversation,” he said.

No freaking way! Superman smother his laughter into a cough and the Flash merely watched the exchange with the same type of helpless desperation Jason felt. Cass wrinkled her nose clearly objecting to witness the subtly unsubtle flirting. Jason desperately searched the crowd for Donna and a possible escape, but she was nowhere to be found.

“I’ll be sure to remember it.” Diana caught Jason’s eye and winked. “We await the Atlantians’ arrival, and then the trials will begin.”

* * *

“Troia!”

“Nightwing!” The two heroes caught each other in a tight hug, then Donna spun him around. Dick returned the favor once his feet returned to the ground. It had been months since the two of them had spoken. Dick had very little free time as he struggled to balance the final days of his academic career, vigilantism, and growing role within YJ, and Donna was also very busy acclimating to a new diplomatic position with the EU.

“I’ve missed you greatly, friend,” she said, sliding their hands together and squeezing.

“Same.” Dick took a good look at her and thought that her new mission must agree with her. Her eyes had lost none of their dazzling shine and her smile was wide and pleased to see him. “What’s with the armor?” Donna wore full Themysciran armor instead of her black uniform. The woven leather tassels swirled against her thighs as she gave a little pose.

“It’s very much part of the ritual that allowed Amazons to align with other tribes long ago. If our sisters are slighted or the other tribe unworthy of their strength, we will demand honor.” She winked.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Yes. Let us. Our brother is very excited, and I’d hate to disappoint him by bringing your team to its knees.”

Dick scanned the room but only found the other team members scattered around the combat circle. “Where is he?”

“Diana is escorting him this way after meeting with the league members,” she replies. “Arthur Curry is in attendance. It is quite an honor.”

“That means all of the original members of YJ and their mentors are here. Today’s the day,” Dick said, lip quirking in a private grin.

“Indeed. Our brother thought to challenge you all to prove his worth, but upon reflection, it was decided that a display of his prowess would best prove him as an equal. Strength, speed, and cunning.”

“Strength? So he’s a metahuman then?”

“Not at all,” said Donna. “Although blessed with gifts from the gods, Jason is human. And that is all I’ll be saying to you, my friend. This will be a fair and honest fight.”

“He wants to fight me?” Dick asked, curious.

“He wanted to test himself against _Robin_ ,” she says. “And was very disappointed to learn that Robin had retired the name and the cape long ago.” Interpreting Donna’s body language was second nature to Dick after so many years of friendship. The way she stood, hip cocked out, and the toss of her shining hair meant that she was amused, but by what, Dick couldn’t say.

“Why would he want to fight me?”

“You’ll just have to. Oh!” Donna turned towards the doors which slid open to reveal the founding members of the Justice League.

They walked down the ramp tall and proud. The Flash, Green Arrow, Batman, and Superman. Wonder Woman entered behind them wearing the armor of Themysicra with the lasso at the hip and sword belted around her waist. The tall figure standing beside her must be Jason. He wore a dark leathers in the same style as the Amazons with a bright red hood that covered his head. A short cape attached to his shoulders. He was armed as well with a sword was strapped to his thigh and golden cuffs wrapped around his wrists. Cassie stood on Jason’s right side. She too wore the dark leathers and her lasso with pride. Jason walked with the same quiet confidence that infused Diana, Donna, and the other Amazon’s that Dick had been fortunate enough to meet. Each moved as if graced with knowledge of self, as if they understood themselves inside and out, a love and friendship that existed within oneself.

Donna kicked off the ground. “We’ll have to talk about this later. Fortune favor you, Nightwing. You’re going to need it” she said, grin fierce, then flew to Diana’s side.

There was a brief commotion at the door. Aquaman had arrived with his son and another exchange of welcomes and pleasantries took place between the group of heroes that had remained in the training area. Dick’s own initiation seemed much simpler in retrospect. All Dick had to do was break into a high-tech lab with his friends and discover Superboy’s existence. Jason’s first experience with the team looked like a mix of family reunion and corporate luncheon, slightly less dangerous but infinitely more tedious. He watched Wally zip into the next round of hugs and handshakes, pulling Diana into a big embrace. 

“Is there any way I could get a tour of the jet before you guys leave today?”

Diana exchanged a quick glance with Cassie. “I would if I were able, Wallace, but I’m afraid we traveled by zetatube this day.”

“Oh. But I thought you…” Across the room, Dick caught his eye and waggled his fingers. “Never mind, Auntie Di. Some dick just gave me the wrong impression.”

Eventually, _finally_ , the party moved to the training floor, which had been cordoned off in a circle of sand. The trials were about to begin. Superman, Batman, Green Arrow, and Aquaman represented the Justice League. Superboy, Zatanna, Black Canary, and Red Tornado represented Young Justice and would act as judges along with the Flash and the Martian Manhunter. The Amazonian contingent stepped forward.

“We present to you our candidate. Jason,” Diana announced proudly, “is a brother to our world. His petition to join Young Justice has been approved by the League. Yet there is a custom of my people to join in battle only those who are worthy of our might. Today, both you and Jason must prove yourselves worthy.

A trial of speed. A trial of strength. A trial of cunning. Jason will match a member of Young Justice who best represents these traits.”

Jason flipped back the hood. He may have well been carved from marble so perfectly formed were his features. Straight nose, high cheekbones, a stubborn jaw and a very generous mouth. He was incredibly attractive if you happened to prefer the dark, strong type with skin burnished by the sun and a gaze that burned like fire.

Earlier, Dick said he’d read Jason’s file, but in truth, while the case files involving Wonder Woman and the Amazons were quite extensive, the personal files were tersely worded facts. Jason had appeared as a nameless footnote that said Diana had begun mentoring a boy now that Cassie had joined the superhero community and was told it was none of Batman’s business. The wording had implied the last part. He’d been mentioned in a few of their latest mission reports but nothing of importance. Dick really wished there’d been a picture at least so he could be prepared for how smoking hot the young warrior was instead of steadying his heartrate. He’d hate to embarrass himself with all the super senses in the room.

Then Jason opened his mouth to speak. “Thank you for agreeing to this trial by combat,” he said, voice that carried to the rafters and flowed like lava down Dick’s spine. “I will prove myself worthy to one day stand beside you.”

Behind the mask, Dick’s eye’s narrowed. There’s a hint of something familiar in his voice, a bending of sound exactly like the accent heard in the Greek neighborhoods on Gotham’s north side, like Touring Row and Cobblestone Park. He filed that detail away for later.

* * *

The first of the trials pit Jason against Kid Flash. It started out well enough, a trade of blows at increasing speeds allowing Wally to test Jason’s reaction and timing. Discovering Jason did not have super speed proved to be his downfall.

“That’s pretty cool,” Jason called when Wally began spinning tight circles around him that turned into eddies of flickering wind. He took careful steps around the edge of the ring to avoid them. “You should like this.”

“Oh?” Wally stopped and crossed his arms. Dick could see the amused smirk creasing his face.

“Definitely.” Jason swung his left arm down sharply. The wrist cuff glowed brightly and then unfolded into a small glimmering shield.

“Cool artifact, bro. Remind me to tell you about this helmet we found.” Wally winked. “After I win.”

“I haven’t done anything yet, _malakas_ ,” Jason muttered the insult under his breath. “Watch this.” Jason turned the shield on its side and threw it towards the ground. It hit with a sharp ping and then went sailing towards the space where Wally once stood.

“That’s okay. But like, dude? You kind of missed me.” Wally waved from across the room.

“Wasn’t aiming for you, Red,” Jason said. “And I’m not done yet.” The shield ricocheted of the ceiling and came hurtling down towards Wally again. There were two now, one flying just below the other and though they sped through the air to bounce against the floor missing their target. They moved fast, not at the level of a speedster, but Dick could just make out their positions and that was calculating their trajectories. The shields spun around pinging against the ceilings and walls before aiming at Wally again. On the next ground strike, the shields doubled.

“So it multiplies? But how are you controlling it? I’m counting five of them now.” Wally leaned against Jason’s shoulder with his arms crossed. He grinned at Jason’s surprise. “What? Didn’t think I’d notice the shadow?”

“Not really,” Jason admitted. “But did you see this coming?”

Wally turned his attention back to the shields and Jason struck. His foot stomped Wally’s, pinning the speedster in place long enough to land a strong right hook. Wally spun with the punch flailing to the ground like a collapsed windmill. Jason caught the shield in midair and clipped it to his wrist.

Dick snorted.

“Trial of speed goes to Jason,” Barry announced before checking on Wally.

* * *

At first blush, and Dick did feel the mildest of heat touch his dusky cheeks, the trial of strength seemed to be only that. Jason and Kaldur met on the beach for a wrestling match. It was a moment of extreme importance to Dick, one that he’d cherish forever.

The sun beamed warmly over the sands and the two tightly defined bodies that flipped and squirmed over one another for a better position. Their hands clasped the other’s skin tightly, muscles swelling with effort. Then they began to sweat. That sweat wound down the black tattoos etched into Kaldur’s skin and trailed over the deep flush spreading across Jason’s strong chest and shoulders.

After the first few minutes, Dick questioned whether Jason possessed some kind of enhanced strength. Donna confirmed he wasn’t a metahuman, yet he and Kaldur seemed evenly matched, sharing a similar build and skill. Perhaps he’d won the favor of one of the Olympians like the strength of Hercules or some talisman that made it possible to endure the power and pressure of Kaldur’s holds. But it became clear that Jason couldn’t quite match Kal. He began to falter, sliding out of Kaldur’s arms instead of catching the Atlantian in his own. Then the match conditions changed.

If Dick hadn’t been trained by the world’s greatest detective, he would have missed the slight shift in Aquaman’s stance. It must have been a signal, because the ocean suddenly swelled before them rising into a huge wave. It rushed over the space where Jason and Kal fought forming a frothing pillar that stood roughly ten feet tall. Dick could just make out Jason and Kaldur’s bodies swirling in the dark Atlantic waters.

Jason’s long arms propelled him to the surface. He exhaled hugely before Kaldur yanked him under. Jason’s movements were slowed while Kaldur easily swam toward him continuing their fight underwater. It was beautiful; Jason’s body suspended as Kaldur curved sinuously around him. Just when it seemed like Jason was about to falter, he’d escape and kick to the surface, snatch a few breaths, and then dive back down to meet Aqualad in a tangle of limbs. Kaldur joined Jason the third time.

“Surely you can see how this will end,” he said.

Jason laughed. “With you on your back begging for mercy,” he said, a fierce grin on his gasping mouth.

“Help!”

The scream shattered the calm. A pale arm waved in the distance. Dick could just make out a panicked face and red hair before a wave toppled over the swimmer.

Above, Jason and Kaldur exchanged a glance. Kaldur’s arms glowed their eerie blue light and he conjured a blade to cut the water spout. The water spilled into the ocean like thunderous wave. Their bodies dove into the water to collect the errant swimmer.

Zatanna and Conner started towards the water, but were stopped by Red Tornado.

Jason and Kaldur cut through the churning water battling against wave after wave Together, they brought the girl to shore. They arranged her on the sands, but when Jason tipped back her head to clear the airflow, the girl’s skin melted to a cool green. She opened both eyes and smiled.

“M’gaan?” Khaldur touched her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

M’gaan coughed lightly. “Of course.”

Jason gave both a shrewd glance. “Is this part of the trial too?”

Kaldur stood and helped M’gann to her feet. “I am surprised as you, my friend.” He held out his hand. After another look around the group, Jason took it.

“They couldn’t possibly think I’d just let some kid drown just because I’m doing this test.” Jason swiped his dripping hair back from his face. He looked angry and wounded, which was a good look for him, and holy libido, Dick really needed to keep it together.

Kaldur steadied Jason with a single hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps we should see this trial as more than a test of your physical strength. It is also a trial of your strength of heart, which is proven to be great in size and depth. I would welcome the chance to fight beside you.”

Jason’s anger melted away. “Thank you.”

There’s a reason that Kaldur has lead the team for so long. His earnestness and his own strength of character had made him a fine leader. He turned his gentle smile to their small crowd.

“The trial of strength goes to Jason!”

* * *

The final trial took place in the training room. 

It was flattering to think that the League and his peers thought Dick best represented their team’s cunning. Dick had worked hard over the past few years to continue building trust within his team and within himself. He used his tactical skills and knowledge of the Young Justice members to develop their battle strategies and mission operations and they worked. Quite well in fact. Now, Dick routinely sat in with Red Tornado and Kaldur for League mission briefings and operations planning. He knew that his vigilante roots helped. But even he wondered what over a decade under Batman’s tutelage would fair against a millennia worth of Amazon prowess. Jason’s trial of speed had proved that he was be pretty quick on the battlefield both mentally and literally with his gods given gifts.

A sharp whistled pierced his concentration along with Wally’s encouraging shout telling Jason to take him down hard.

“What about me?” Dick shouted with a laugh.

“What about you?” Wally replied to everyone’s amusement. “Go for his hair, Wonderboy! It’s his weakness!”

Across the floor, Jason’s generous mouth twitched up. He stood fully armed for this encounter, shield already extended and a sword in his dominant hand. Poised and silent, Jason looked every inch a heroic figure.

Dick unclipped the escrima sticks from his shoulders and twirled them through his fingers. He was ready for whatever Jason threw at him.

They clashed on the count of three. Jason moved calmly as he did his previous encounters. The confidence in his movements was inspiring in a way. Jason had trained relied on that training to carry him to victory. But none of the other members of Young Justice spent years training with Donna Troy. Jason's swordsmanship was recognizable and he moved in a familiar enough pattern.

Dick narrowed down to a series of six moves that would end the engagement. He dove over the next thrusting attack and rolled across the floor grabbing the missing escrima stick along the way. Armed again, he whirled into Jason with a series of quick-tempered blows that inched Jason backwards to create more space between them. But space wasn’t what Dick wanted. He continued to crowd forward, spinning just within the warrior’s guard until Jason shoved him away bodily. Dick grinned tightly, arm winding back but rather than meet the strike, he let go of the left stick sending it hurtling towards Jason’s unprotected ankle. It hit with a sharp thwack and Jason stumbled, hurt.

Perfect. Dick ran forward, timing his next spin with the swing of the shield. He followed the downward blow with his body, pivoting down and around on one foot and bringing his other leg up to curl around Jason’s sword arm. Their eyes met and Dick could see the moment when Jason realized he was about to be disarmed. It might be a blow to the pride for a warrior, but Dick didn’t like his odds against a suped-up human who carried a sword and a magic shield. He locked the arm beneath his knee and twisted Jason’s wrist with his hands. The sword spun up into the air. Dick turned a taunting grin towards his opponent only to meet Jason’s smirk.

Uh oh.

Dick’s stomach tumbled as he was lifted from the ground and used as a fulcrum to balance Jason’s body as he spun them both towards the sword. Jason caught it with his left hand then flourished the blade.

 _Show-off_ , Dick thought before pushing off Jason’s body in a tight round off that ended with a double twist. He grinned at Jason from across the room and tossed his hair out of his face. Dick expected to find a little bit of shock or perhaps consternation at how easily he'd increased the distance between them, but Jason's expression seemed more alert, his eyes searching. Whatever he found in Dick sent a fierce grin sliding across his face.

Then Jason did a curious thing. He sheathed the sword after another flash of the blade the pulled a small black handle from the long pocket on his belt. His thumb twitched and a knife blade fanned up from the handle. A switch blade? Dick eyed the new weapon carefully. That seemed rather odd and not at all Themysciran.

“That’s different.”

“Figured I’d go for a back to basics approach,” Jason rejoined.

Dick clipped the sticks to their holsters and then settled back into his favorite unarmed stance.

Jason moved like splitting ice, fluid and precise if completely unpredictable. The knife twisted and flashed in his hand, a pretty distraction to the real danger in his fists. Jason hit like a steel bat and Dick dodged more punches than he did knife strikes. They crossed the attacking and retreating, moving faster instead of tiring.

“You’re pretty good with that,” Dick says, letting his body fall into the rhythm of bait and thrust. It feels easy, familiar, like a song he’s heard before.

“I’m pretty good at everything I do,” Jason says with a wink and that sounds familiar too except....

“Isn’t that my line?” Dick asks before hooking Jason’s ankle with his heel and kicking out.

Jason’s smile tuned devilish, slick mouthed and hungry. “So you do remember me.” His attacks gained more speed and Dick had to focus on the blade and the distance between them instead of the excitement in Jason’s voice. Remember him? He didn’t even know that the Amazons would protect their male scion let alone train them in that strange pocket of time belonging to the gods of Olympus, so when would he have ever met Jason?

But he had a Gotham accent.

“Refresh my memory,” he says, which, judging by Jason’s swift knee to his side, wasn’t the right thing to say.

“I’m trying, dickhead. Pay attention.” He twirled the knife between his fingers before spinning on his heel bringing the knife and his entire body down under Dick’s guard. His red hood and half cape fluttered above his head and.

Dick caught his wrist again locking it and then deadening the muscles in Jason’s forearm with a two-fingered jab into his bicep. He folds a leg over Jason’s arm again and drops bringing his body up and over. Jason landed with a thud and Dick rolled easily atop Jason’s chest. His knees straddled Jason’s chest and he still had Jason’s arm locked in his hand. The knife fell from Jason’s nerveless fingers. Jason looked up at him with his turquoise eyes, fierce and anticipating and Dick gasped, assaulted by a wave of déjà vu that swept him four years into the past.

A rooftop. An order to subdue lookouts. A smart-mouthed kid in a red hoodie.

“ _Jason_?”


End file.
